Truth
by Dragonflys-Girl
Summary: MacStella - This is how they progressed - from one form of closeness to another, through the little snippets in between the big moments. Update through the season's episodes. Spoiler: everything up to 5.17 Green Piece
1. La Vérité: Hostage & Veritas

**Title: **Truth

**Author: **KiKi

**Disclaimers:** All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series… I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

**Spoilers: Hostage & Veritas**

**Notes: **A new one… and wow… aren't Mac and Stella getting braver these days :) This is much lighter than what I usually write, you know?

And now that I'm writing quite often again, let's do another experiment… how long can I keep their relationship alive with secret indulgences throughout this season?? To start things off, let's just give them a little awkward and aww moment…

And since they started the season with "Veritas", let that be the codename for this little experiment :).

--

"Please tell me you are not trying to get yourself drunk by drowning in hard liquor."

"I am not trying to get myself drunk by drowning in hard liquor," he parroted and smirked at his partner's exasperated sigh without turning around to face her. He paused, then asked, "What do you have against hard liquor?"

"Nothing, other than the fact that I can't haul you home tonight if you are drunk," she climbed onto the seat next to his and signalled the bartender. "Tonic with twist of lime."

He studied her with renewed concern.

"What?" she raised an elegant eye brow at him, her curly hair bouncing free as she turned her head.

"You sure you're alright?" he had to ask.

"What, just because I chose not to drown my sorrows in alcohol tonight doesn't mean something's wrong," she tried to remain stoic, but failed to keep herself from flinching as she shrugged. "You're the one who's getting over a concussion."

"Only a mild one," he shook his head at her smart mouth and stubbornness. "And that was yesterday. I wasn't the one who was grabbing onto a rusty old railing hanging on for dear life just hours ago."

She didn't answer, and he reached over to clasp his hand around hers, "Stell."

She sighed, "My shoulder hurt. I think I pulled a muscle or something. I'm fine."

"You should have it looked at by a doctor."

"Says the man who refused a chopper ride to the ER after getting kidnapped, shot at, and drowned."

"Well, I had to catch the bastard. He pissed me off," he said, as if that explained the whole situation. "Still does."

"So much so that you have to arrest him for pissing you off?" she teased. "I would have to remind Danny to be more careful. You know he has a tendency to piss you off."

"You do that," he teased back. The light banter was familiar, and he welcomed it.

"Well, so did I," she claimed and turned to face him, brown eyes looking deep into his blue ones, "had to catch him, I mean."

"I know"

They sat in silence, his hand still holding onto hers, drawing lazy patterns on the back of her hand with his thumb. To his surprise, she let him do just that.

He continued his heart-to-heart with Jack Daniels; she closed her eyes and leaned back.

"Why do you have such a God-damned hero complex, Mac?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"I don't know, Stella, do I?" he was slightly confused by the sudden turn of their conversation.

She glared at him, and he had to fight the urge to lean in and kiss the frown off her face.

"Well, you always seem to be of the opinion that you are responsible for everyone around you," she continued, her frown still in place. "You are not responsible for all the bad things that happened, you know?"

He looked at her, and felt the warmth that radiated from her. If he indeed had a "God-damned hero complex" that urged him to feel responsible for those around him, then she had an equal obsession in saving him from himself.

That was what she was doing now, in this noisy bar where the women were scantily clothed and the men were openly checking out his partner's figure, wasn't she?

He winced at the thought of all those men checking her out, and instinctively, he shifted closer to her, staking his claim without actually voicing it out loud.

Whether she knew it or not, whether she accepted it or not, Stella Bonasera was his to cherish, to protect, to care for.

"I am not doing this because I have to save the world," he tried to explain himself after a long pause. "I'm doing this because I believe that is the right thing to do."

"I know you do," she conceded. "But sometimes, I just wish you would be less responsible, less rational. Trouble seemed to have just followed you everywhere, and I don't know how many more times I can stomach not knowing if you are safe."

"And you have a tendency to follow me into those situations," he stated, and his heart constricted at the thought of the many times she had been in danger because of him in the past year alone.

"There you go again," she chided, knowing him well enough to be able to read his thoughts. "I make my own choices. I am a grown woman."

"But you are also my partner and my friend, the one person whom I – I just need you to be safe."

His almost admission brought his senses closer to reality.

There was no denying what he felt for her now. For a while, he had thought what he had with Peyton was enough, but that relationship had fallen apart. With Stella, he felt the connection, knew there was the deep bond forged by soul mates between them once he had stopped denying his attraction and feelings toward his Greek goddess with curly hair.

He finished his drink in one gulp, and waited while she sipped the last of her tonic water. Without saying a word, he paid the tab (both his and hers despite her protests).

"You are in no position to drive," she claimed once they cleared the bar and walked into the New York night.

"I am not drunk," he claimed.

"You're not, but I still don't think it's a good idea for you to drive. You've been at the bar a while nursing Jack Daniels."

He acquiesced, and handed his keys over meekly and started to make his way to his SUV.

She drove, and as they crossed the city towards his apartment, his thoughts ran free with her by his side.

The past year had been trying, to say the least, and Stella had followed him into every one of those dangerous situations without regard for her own safety. He feared for her life, more than the danger posed to himself in each of those situations. Somehow, at some point in the past year, Stella's safety had elevated to the same level of things he held dear.

There were now four things he would protect at all cost: the honour of his country, the safety of his city, the integrity of his lab, and the well-being of Stella Bonasera.

Now, the question was what he should do about it.

"I can hear you thoughts and know that you are already thinking too hard," her voice once again broke through and called him back to reality. Looking out the window, he realized she had parked just down the block from his apartment. She killed the ignition and handed the key over.

"Come stay the night," he suggested, not taking keys from her.

"Mac, I can take a cab home," she countered, almost whined.

"There is no way I'd let you take a cab in the middle of the night after working that cabbie killer case for the past month and a half," he was adamant. Sometimes, the streak of independence in Stella drove him insane.

She tried to glare at him, but at the end, she nodded her assent and they got out of the SUV together. They were walking close, their shoulder brushing against one another's when Stella tripped and started falling forward. He reached out to steady her, one hand holding onto her forearm while the other shot out around her waist.

"Thanks," she righted herself with his help. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."

He continued to hold onto her, even though she was fine then, standing in front of him. He had touched her, and he found that he couldn't let go. His sky blue eyes held her emerald ones and for a moment, he thought her eyes mirrored the same emotions he was sure were in his.

"Let's go," he said softly, his one hand still holding one of hers as they continued to talk.

It felt right, her delicate, lean hand nestled in his bigger, more powerful one.

They were waiting for the elevator when she spoke again, "I need you to be safe too, Mac. If I lose you, then I'd have lost not only my partner and my friend. I wouldn't know how to function without the man I've grown to care for, whom I've grown to – "

She stopped, but Mac caught her message, loud and clear.

They weren't ready yet. Neither of them were ready to give a name to the emotions welling up inside, but he knew, it would only be a matter of time before the topic was revisited.

Until then, he'd continue to hold her hand and guard her with all he could.

--

Note 2: Somehow, I really feel this is different from what I usually write… maybe it's because of the dialogue, I don't know… but do let me know what do you think? Pretty please? I'll hand out virtual cookies if you will review :)?


	2. L'inquiétude: Page Turner

Title: L'inquiétude

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: There is no intention on the author's part to receive any financial or other favours by writing this story. The writing of this story borrows characters from the television episode with the full acknowledgement that the characters are properties of CBS, Alliance Atlantis, and their partners in the production of the television series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers: 5.02 Page Turner

Notes: Hee… how do you like my new disclaimer? I'm just taking a law course and thought I'd practise here!

More notes at the end… for a change…

--

She hated paperwork.

There must be some psycho-analytical crap that would explain why the brass would want heaps upon heaps of paperwork done. Because, really, how many trees had to be killed just to process the fact that, yes, we had determined that this was the sick bastard who had stabbed granny to death because he needed money for a quick fix?

Or this could be God's punishment for her chronically not handing in her assignment to Sr. Margaret.

Either way, this evening was as exciting and enjoyable as a visit to the dentist.

She shouldn't be here in the first place; she should have been at home sharing a meal and conversation with her partner and best friend. Obviously, that had not happened.

They had made the plans when they met up for Sunday morning coffee, after Ethane Scott had been locked behind bars, but before Sid was almost killed by radiation poisoning. She had looked forward to their plan, hoping to share reprieve from the harsh reality together.

So, when he had come up to her and asked if they could reschedule, her heart had dropped. She had been almost certain this was his way of gently telling her that he had doubts about where they were going. But then, he surprised her explaining, almost shyly, that the guys had planned to get together to watch a game at Sid's room to cheer him up. He wanted to go, but he wanted to check with her first.

Her heart swelled at his thoughtfulness and consideration. Merrily, she agreed to reschedule. He gave a gentle smile at her response; his hand held hers for a while, softly caressing the back of her hand, before turning away and took off.

She watched him leave; the tingling sensation lingered.

Maybe she should have asked if she could join them instead.

She was on the verge of tearing a particularly annoying form into tiny pieces when her phone interrupted her. Glancing at the clock, she pondered briefly if she should answer – she wasn't supposed to be on the clock anymore, after all, but the side that wanted to get away from the paperwork won out, and she picked up.

"Bonasera."

"Why are you still at work?" her partner's voice filtered through the line. Relieved for a little break from the paperwork on her desk, she threw her pen atop the pile and leaned back with a smile.

"Well, hello to you, too, Mac. How are the Yankees doing?"

"The Rangers, Stell, the Rangers. We were watching hockey," Mac replied with amusement, as if explaining to a four-year-old child.

"Oh. Well, anyone got carried off the ice with a bloody nose?"

"Sorry to disappoint," he chuckled, "but the ice is marred only by skate marks, though there were a few fights to spice up the game."

She chuckled at Mac's description. It was surprising how a few words with Mac could lift her mood. They didn't even have to be in the same room. "See, that's the reason why I'll stick to baseball. Hockey's just too messy."

"That and because you're good at baseball."

He almost sounded smug, and even though she was enjoying their inane banter, she was ready to move on, "So, Mac, I'm sure you didn't call to debate with me the merits of baseball versus hockey."

Mac didn't say anything for a long while, but Stella had learned to have a little more patience when it came to Mac Taylor.

"Well, I just wanted to see if you have eaten yet," he finally muttered.

She quickly glanced at the clock, "At 10:30 in the evening?"

"Well, have you eaten yet?' he asked, and Stella bit her lip to refrain from groaning in frustration.

"I am fine, Mac."

"But you have not yet had dinner," he insisted.

"No, but neither had you."

"On the contrary, Stella, I ate with the guys."

"Beers and chips while watching the game?" she countered quickly, and knew she had hit the spot when Mac didn't return her banter. "Mac – "

He didn't let her finish, "I worry about you, Stella."

She sighed, but remained silent. He didn't elaborate, but neither did Stella prompt him. He would speak when he was ready. For now, they could waste away his cell phone minutes with listening to each other breathe.

Sometimes, Stella realized, that was all she needed to reassure herself. Words were often over-rated anyway. Many times, all she really wanted was to know that he was alright, that he was breathing and would be coming back to her.

"Today could have turned out very differently, you know? We could have lost Sid, we could have lost Flack, or Hawkes, or you," his voice filtered through the phone line again, and she could hear the emotions building up in his voice. "I could have lost you."

Her breath hitched. She wasn't sure if she was ready to deal with the emotions behind those words, but she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. What he had admitted so softly over the phone was so much like qualifying what they were afraid to name.

"But you didn't," she had to reassure him, just as she needed him to reassure her. "I am fine, and you are fine. We're both still here."

They were silent again. She was waiting, listening to his cues, trying to figure out how far he was willing to take this tonight.

"I'm not trying to crowd you. This isn't whatever God-damn hero complex you said I carry around. Really, it's not about me trying to save you. This is simply – If anything – I don't want to think about what could have happened."

"Mac," she sighed, but Stella Bonasera was at a loss of what to say. Words sounded trite. She needed him to understand that it was equally difficult to her, that she wasn't sure she would be able to function.

"This is not making much sense," he sighed, the same frustrated sigh he let out when evidence in a case wasn't forthcoming. "This definitely isn't the worst situation we've been in – heck, you were almost knocked off the roof of a building last week and I was shot and almost drowned, but it's this – this thing – today, that got me all rattled up."

She understood what he was saying though – every single emotion he was trying to explain to her, because the same fear had run through her earlier today. She had the same thoughts, the same fear, the moments of panic that engulfed them when they first entered into autopsy to find Sid confirming their nightmares, the feelings of uncertainty and unknown of whether they, too, were contaminated, of how the other was feeling.

They needed to talk. She needed to let him know that he wasn't the only one with those feelings. She needed to show him he wasn't the only one affected by the events of the days – but not on the phone though. She refused to share this kind of intimacy with Mac Taylor when she couldn't even touch him.

Glancing at the pile of paperwork on her desk and the clock on her desk, she stood up and started throwing her things into her bag.

"Where are you?" she asked

"A few blocks away from your apartment, actually," he almost sounded sheepish, and she smiled.

So he was heading towards her. Zipping up her bag, she stood tall and willed her hand to stop trembling.

"Meet me at Angelo's around the corner. We're grabbing a late dinner."

--

_Notes:  
_

_Well… thank you, all of you who reviewed and for those of you who didn't leave a signed review, autumngold and Moska, thanks for letting me know what you think, and more for telling me you like what you saw!_

_I'm tickled pink by the many reviews I received from you guys… I'm thrilled and excited and over the moon and … (fill in your own words on how to say you're exceptionally happy). But then, with the first chapter well received, so-to-speak, there is added pressure for the chapters to follow, and I hope this instalment meets your high standards!_

_I like getting reviews… so please don't stop… coz reviews you guys feel strongly enough about this to let me know what you think… I do get hurt sometimes when the 400 other people who read this didn't leave me a note… sniff sniff… I used to threaten putting up big board signs on my front lawns to demand review… or threaten a foreseeable writer's block… :P_

_And one last thing… the schedule for posting this… I am peculiar about when and how I write… and that's usually when I can hear their voices in my head with the dialogues… (that usually happens when I'm extremely bored at work or almost falling asleep, so I'd have to jump out of bed and type it up before I lost it...) I'd love to try to keep to a schedule that's partially dependent on the CBS' airing schedule… I mean… I don't wanna have the writers decide to give us something very juicy and I can't turn this fic that way to include that aspect in it… so… I'm looking for at least 1 episode's buffer… sometimes 2 if we are on back-to-back episodes… I'll try to end each chapter similar to a one-shot though...  
_

_With that said… I've done enough typing… thanks for hanging in there with me as I babble on and on… I tend to do that… Happy reading, and please, help me turn "pinker" with your reviews :)_

_PS: I gave out all my virtual cookies last time… but maybe this week we can go with hot chocolates?_


	3. Les Bêtes Noires: Turbulence

Title: Les Bêtes Noires

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

Spoilers: Turbulence

--

It was a nightmare; one she could no longer remember but bits and pieces.

There were people, cowering in one corner of a plane cabin; there were shots – loud shots, shots from a gun – and the smell of gun powder; there were screams, loud shrieking from frightened people. She saw Mac, walking and standing and talking and saving others.

She saw the devastation, the resignation, the struggle, the panic.

And she saw the explosion, her focus suddenly shifted from within the plane to a spectator outside. She saw the plane, and an explosion, and a building with a big hole in it.

Oh, dear God.

She shot up, a weak "no" escaping her before she could stifle the rest of her scream. Breathing heavily, perspiration dotting her forehead, she straightened in her chair and tried to orient herself. Realizing that she was in her office, she breathed a little easier. She grabbed the bottle of water on her desk and took a big gulp, anything to calm her down.

The clock on her desk flashed 11:23pm. She had fallen asleep at her desk.

She cringed thinking about the quickly fading dream – good, let it go, because she couldn't bear to relive it.

She had been waiting for her partner in her office. She should have gone home much, much earlier, after processing for almost 24 hours non-stop, but she stayed.

Stella Bonasera couldn't bring herself to leave before she saw Mac Taylor, walking, breathing, and well in the lab with her own eyes.

He should have been back by now. Flack, who had been the last member of the team to stay at JFK, and already made his appearance and declared that he would now go home to sleep for the next two days.

Mac hadn't ridden in with Flack; he didn't have to. The first thing she had done when she got to JFK that morning had been to give him the keys to her Denali.

So, here she was, in a deserted lab, fighting the remnants of her nightmare.

For a brief moment yesterday, she had thought history was going to repeat itself, this time with Mac in the plane. She could still feel it, the panic, the bottomless pit her heart seemingly had fallen into when she received that call from Mac. She almost dropped the phone when she realized the implication. Possible hijackers, his plane might be the first.

And the relief was immense, when his plane had touched down and he had emerged with the SWAT team.

There hadn't been time for comfort though, with the deadline looming over their head. He was distanced throughout the investigation, much harsher than his normal self. It was almost as if they had travelled back in time to when Mac had forgotten how to laugh.

She worried about him, but with his refusal to leave the hanger, someone had to keep the lab running.

They had talked, but briefly, and rarely in person in the past 24 hours. With the processing and working the scene at the hanger finished, she had gathered what she had found with Hawkes and retreated back to the lab.

He had called, to let her know that they had made the collar, and that he would be staying behind to do the interrogation.

That had been 5 hours ago. She hadn't been in touch with him since.

Standing up, she spotted the jacket that had fallen onto the ground during her thrashing around. It was still warm, and smelled oh-so-familiar.

She picked it up and pulled the jacket tight around her. She wasn't too cold, but she needed the comfort. The jacket felt like him, and for a moment, she could pretend.

Her fingers ran over the Marine Corp pin on the lapel, her mind brought her back to the time when she had asked him about the ever-present icon.

"To remind myself of what is important, and what sacrifices have been made to make that possible for me, everyday," he had said.

The answer was so very Mac Taylor. She remembered her younger self's heart skipped at the sincerity of his response. He was married to Clare then, and she had buried that brief flutter of her heart deep into the recess of her mind and had been fully prepared to live her life locking that feeling away.

She never expected a chance to be on the receiving end of his tender smiles and soft touches. If she could choose, however, she would rather she was denied that chance her whole life, because watching her best friend shatter into pieces broke her heart, too.

Determined to find her friend, she moved along the deserted halls of the lab. She mentally went over the past 30 hour' events again and again. Mac had been tensed and distanced, and she hoped she could get him to leave the lab and share a little down time with her, even if just for a few hours.

She was surprised when she found his office empty. The break room yielded the same result. For some reason, she had expected him to be pouring over the reports to get them over and done with. For all his grand gestures about hating the bureaucracy, Mac Taylor was never one to let paperwork slide.

Still wondering about in the lab, she finally spotted him, in one of the lesser-used hallways leaning against the glass wall overlooking the vast expanse of the city. That was the spot he escaped to when he needed a moment to think, when he needed to be away from all the people needing his guidance, when he wanted to be alone with Peyton.

The last thought stung, but she swallowed up the bitterness. It was in the past, and she had a future to look forward to. She smoothed her hair, hoping her eyes weren't haunted because of the nightmare, and started to move toward him.

He must have spotted her approach through the glass, because he turned to face her before she reached him.

She came to stand beside him and smiled a little, "Hey."

"Hey," he replied, no smile.

"How long have you been back?"

"A few hours?" his brow furrowed, the he shrugged. "Why are you still here?"

She watched him, and saw lines deeper than usual on his face.

"Well, considering I just woke up, I was unconscious and couldn't move," she cracked, but the alarms in her head went off when Mac didn't even show a hint of a smile. "Mac?"

"You should go get some rest," he said, his gaze seemed to have looked through her, but not seeing her. "Be careful. Don't drive if you're too tired. We can have someone pick you up tomorrow."

He was dismissing her, Stella realized, and she wasn't even sure why. She could feel her stubbornness coming through. Combining with the feeling of being unsettled after her dream, she stood her ground. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, "Mac, you okay?"

He didn't look back, "Nothing's wrong. Don't worry about me."

She reached for his hand, trying to lace her fingers through his even though he made no move to hold hers, "Talk to me, Mac. I can tell something's bothering you. I want to help."

He remained quiet with his back facing her. She squeezed his hand, but it didn't seem to have gotten through to him. She moved even closer, brushing against his arm. Still no response.

"What's bothering you?" she asked again, and waited.

"I just need a few moments alone, Stella," he stated with a sigh. "I will be fine. Just – let me be alone."

Anger flared up inside her. Stella wasn't sure what had angered her so much, but at the moment, rational thinking had gone out the window and she let her emotions take the driver's seat.

"Well, excuse me for wanting to be a friend and wanting to know how I can help," she stated shortly and shrugged her hand loose from the limp grasp. Turning around, she moved to step away, to go back to her office and maybe to her apartment.

She had taken maybe 3 steps before she felt his hand around her wrist. With a force she didn't expect, he grabbed her and swung her around.

His eyes frightened her. They were an intense blue, like a stormy sea. For the first time in their friendship, Stella Bonasera wondered if Mac Taylor was considering hurting her.

But he let go of her wrist. The intense emotions were still on his face, and he remained just as close to her, but he let go of her wrist, before growling, "I said I just need a minute to think, Stella. Is it too much to ask?"

She stubbornly refused to acknowledge his words and continued staring into his eyes.

"Do you have any idea what it was like for me? To be on a plane, not knowing, thinking there was a hijacking going on and I was in the middle of it, stuck at the wrong place at the wrong time, just like Clare was? You want to know what I was thinking, what I'm thinking?" Mac wasn't screaming, his voice barely a notch louder than normal, but he was speaking quickly, and his tone was cold enough to chill the pumping blood in her.

"It was the first time I could remotely understand what Clare would have felt if she hadn't died upon impact. That gnawing in the gut that you would die and so would all these people around you, that one dangerous person could kill you and inflict another deadly blow to this city. And I'm thinking how someone can be so careless and selfish and inconsiderate of others, how these people could do what they did after knowing that one wrong step, just, and tens of thousands of people would die. Forgive me if I need a little time to calm myself down before I lose control and take it out on Susan Montgomery and whoever was closest."

He stopped talking then, just kept on staring at her. Neither was willing to back down. Deep hazels bore into the stormy blues, and their silent battle continued.

"You could have talked to me about it, Mac," Stella said coldly. "I was willing to listen to you and shoulder that with you."

"I don't need a baby-sitter, Stella," he said, his tone barely above a whisper but with a trace of malice in it; his eyes were just as intense. "I don't need someone baby-sitting me."

"Fine," she shook her head at his words. It stung, but she was not about to let him know how badly those words hurt. She flung his jacket at him, wiped her hands off her pants. "Fine."

Stella kept looking at him, hard, as if waiting, daring, him to speak again.

He didn't. So she stood up tall and looked him in the eye, "You know, I didn't know my trying to help you is such a burden to you. I've obviously over-estimated myself." Willing her voice not to tremble and the tears not to fall just yet, she nodded at him, "Have a good evening, Detective Taylor."

She turned around to walk way shivering; the sweat from her earlier nightmare made her more susceptible to the chills in the night.

It wouldn't matter though, because she knew, another nightmare was already waiting for her at home.

--

A/N: So, here it is… how do you like it?? I'll start up a protest and rally for reviews if you like :). I was heart-broken when my reviews didn't go up more last week :(. Yes, I am greedy, sue me. I wouldn't mind if my arresting officer was Mac or Flack though drool.

So… I don't think Mr. Brandon warrant a mention in this fic… neh, he's not that important in the scheme of things! Stell was SO not interested in dealing with him soon as she heard Mac was on the phone!

When I saw this eppy I was already going crazy thinking I need to write something about the intensity of it… it's funny how I felt so strongly about these 2 in this ep considering there wasn't that many scenes of them yummily together… Oh dear me… but trust me, when I saw last night's eppy, I was gleefully happy (not that I like the not-seeing-Mac-and-Stella-together-much episodes, but it works so well with this that I don't really have to change much!)

Now, you know me… I can't stay with fluff for long… and I think it'd be a little boring if we let them sail through this relationship without bumps, you know? Hee hee.. No worries, all is well still in the world of Taylor-Bonasera. I already have bunnies running around for the next episode… hee…

Now… I've babbled on enough (Man, I wrote another 300 words just babbling again!). I'm gonna stop now…

And one last thing: thanks to all of you who reviewed the last time… It was SOOO cool getting the review from you guys!

PS: Sorry, just one more thought... after reading my own A/N notes... I realize I sound like the world's ditziest person alive... trust me... I'm not that bad in real life...


	4. Les Sentiments: Sex, Lies, And Silicone

Title: Les Sentiments

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

Spoilers: Up to Sex, Lies, and Silicon; More Turbulence than Sex Lies and Silicon, actually...

--

Mac Taylor was seeing red. Blood red.

Rumours had it at the lab that Stella Bonasera would be going out on a date tonight – a second date, to be exact. Because according to the ever trust-worthy grapevine, the first date happened four evenings ago. She was spotted in a fancy French restaurant with a great looking guy. Said great looking guy was later identified as one Brendon Walsh, of the FDNY. She was spotted in a red slinky number gyrating on the firefighter's lap.

Apparently, tonight, there would be a repeat performance at another fancy French restaurant.

And Mac Taylor almost broke the jaws of the two lab techs from questioned doc's who were discussing Stella's moves.

He knew, as well as the next cop, how rumours were worse than witness accounts, but rumours also didn't grow on trees. Something had to have happened for the tale to be weaved.

Nonetheless, he scoffed at the idea of French cuisine. It was clear the firefighter was trying to impress Stella with his choice of intimate settings, but Brendon Walsh didn't know Stella as well as he did; Brendon Walsh didn't know that Stella would prefer Italian over French every day, and he didn't know of the small, homey Italian joint he had planned on taking her.

And no, Mac Taylor would not be asking Stella Bonasera about her plans for the evenings. It didn't matter that she was going out with someone while they still had unresolved issues between them. It didn't matter that they were supposed to working towards something.

He could just let her spiral out of his reach, just like how his world had spiralled out of his control in half a fortnight.

Seven days. It had only been seven days but already things were drastically different.

Things were far from ideal between them when he had to take the trip to DC. Their last personal conversation had been downright nasty. He had tried to mend the fences the next day, but their meeting quickly dashed his hopes of a quick resolution. She had walked into his office and offered nothing more than a curt greeting. The coffee that he got her – the overpriced caramel macchiato that she enjoyed but were nothing more than proportioned milk and artificial sweetener in his mind – was left on his desk as she took off.

His heart went cold with the tawny liquid.

As much as he wanted things to work out between them, however, he still had his pride. When he left for DC, he had hoped things would cool down enough between them during the week that they could have a talk after he returned. But all this time, while he understood where Stella's anger had come from, he felt equally justified with his frustration.

She should have trusted him when he asked to be alone. She should have known to let him be when he needed to sort things out for himself. She should have understood that he would go to her when he was ready.

In fact, she did know. She had known for the longest time since they were best friends and partner, and all of a sudden, it seemed as if none of that mattered that night.

She had pushed, and he had pushed back. Two volatile chemicals mixed together.

And as Danny would have described it, BOOM. Everything Mac held sacred exploded.

They didn't have a chance to have the talk, however. The moment he stepped back into the lab, he was dragged into the Ann Steele case. She had just gone off duty after pulling a double, and he had worked with Danny since he arrived for the overnight shift.

She arrived at the scene at 7:00am, dressed impeccably in one of her suits. The red blouse stood out, fiery, passionate red, wrapped around in cool, controlled black. Purely Stella Bonasera.

Their eyes met, and for a few moments, the streets and commotions around them faded as she looked into his eyes as he explored her soul. With a light, guilty tinge of satisfaction, he noted that she looked tired and worn out.

Maybe, just maybe, she had not been as indifferent about their rift as he had thought.

Maybe.

But they never had a chance to say anything beyond exchanging "hello" and "good morning."

Whether by design or by chance, they worked separately on the same case. She focused on the dolls with Lindsay, and he focused on all the other evidence. Surely, they passed each other in the hall and she would update him on their latest findings, they hadn't had a moment together, just for the two of them.

She hadn't fallen into steps with him while they navigated the maze of the lab's hallway bouncing theories off one another.

More than he realized, he missed that. Not just her companionship, or her presence, but her mind and intellect. And the re-assurance that she would be there to support him no matter the situation.

Sinclair's visit earlier had given him much to think about. He thought about Sinclair's wife, and her decision to leave. He thought about Sinclair, how he had lied by omission with the false hope to protect his message, and how sharing his secrets had ultimately led to their separation.

He had thought about Claire again, about how things would have worked out if she hadn't gone to work that Tuesday morning. Would they still be together? Would Stella still be around?

He was still pondering, thoughts bouncing between the two women who meant more to him than his own life, when she materialized in his doorway, files in hand.

"Hey," she greeted softly, almost timidly, and his heart constricted. Had they really drifted that far apart in a matter of seven days?

"Hey," he echoed. At his nod, she entered into his domain and shut the door behind her. "How are you?"

"I'm good, good," she said awkwardly holding her files.

They stood in his office, and like a silly teenager, Mac's heart thudded faster. He had missed her, and he knew he had to fix things, even if just to be friends again.

"Here, eh, are my report and Lindsay's," she stammered, and it was so unlike Stella Bonasera that he stared at her intently.

"Thanks," his hand brushed against hers – deliberately – when he picked the files up, and his eyes held hers.

In that instant, their connection was back on, and he let their eyes do the talking for a while.

She blinked first and quickly looked down. Stella Bonasera was fidgeting, and Mac braced himself for whatever she had to say.

"I, uh. I want to apologize," she finally spit out, looking helplessly around her but never at him. "I shouldn't have pushed last week. I was out of line."

"Maybe you weren't," he countered softly. "Maybe you were right in asking me to share things with you."

They were quiet after that. He waited, as did she.

And the words of the lab techs crept back into his mind.

"I heard you have a date. I'm not going to keep you then."

He was surprised by the bitterness that had seeped into his words. She looked up at that comment, shocked, "Uh, I – "

"Go," he commanded softly. "Don't keep him waiting."

She looked torn, which only made Mac's heart constricted even more. She was deciding if she could leave.

Eventually, she sighed, and dropped her eyes again, "No, I won't be. Nobody's waiting for me."

With that, she went out the door.

And it took him exactly 30 seconds to register what she had said.

"Nobody's waiting for me," she had said. "Nobody's waiting for me."

In a split second, Mac found himself out of his office and going after her, just as he should have done one week prior after she took off in anger.

He had missed the direction she had turned, but he caught up with her in the locker room.

She was alone, and he walked in, closing the door behind him.

"Mac?" she looked up at the sound of the door locking.

"You're not going to see that firefighter?"

"No," she shook her head and sighed, standing up and leaning against the locker as if she needed them to prop her up. He had never seen her so weak, so fragile, and he hated whoever did that to her.

He should really hate himself then, his conscience chided.

"We were – uh, " he faltered. He had a speech all planned out, but at the moment, looking at her, his mind went blank.

"I – " she tried also, and stopped just as abruptly.

They continued their staring contest, until she shook her head in mild amusement wrapped in melancholy, "We're a mess, you know?"

He felt the corners of his mouth lifted in response to her jab as he shook his head, "I guess we are. Stella, about last week – "

"No, Mac. Don't start apologizing for last week. I was pushing you, I know that. I mean, I know you, and I know that you need your space and your time and you have your own way of dealing with things. I don't know what got to me last week, but I was pushing, and pushing. I – " she paused, running her fingers through her hair and closing her eyes as if reliving that horrid conversation. "I shouldn't have assumed you would want to share everything with me."

"But I do," he automatically protested, his brain barely registered what he had said, what he had committed himself to, but it felt right, so right. He wanted to share with her things. He just needed time to adjust.

She looked sceptical, and he needed to reassure her, and to reassure himself.

"I don't know if this will happen again, Stella, because I know I was just being myself and you were just being yourself. We just pushed and pushed.

"Pushed so hard that we pushed one another away," she injected, her voice a little thicker than normal.

"Yes, we pushed," he admitted, gaining more and more confidence as his thoughts returned, "But we were awkward. We were finding our footing; we weren't sure where we stood with this thing. Maybe I should have opened up to you more; maybe you should have just let me be. I don't know, and we can't change that now. But I do know is I want to get past this, Stella. I need to get past this. WE need to get past this."

She looked hopeful, and Mac could feel his heart swell as their relationship were mended, piece by piece, as they stepped closer and closer towards one another.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

His voice wasn't exactly working, but he needed to reassure her. He reached out and touched her cheek, caressing the soft skin on her prominent cheek bones.

She closed her eyes as she leaned into his touch. Message received.

"What, is it chalk or eye lashes this time?" she asked, her eyes opened again and this time, they were twinkling.

At his look of confusion, she raised an elegant brow.

Right – Adam, that afternoon, at the lab, picking eye lashes off Stella's cheek.

Note to self: seriously sprain Adam's left pinkie as a punishment while not hindering his ability to process evidence.

Realizing that she was still expecting an answer, he renewed his touch, "No, no chalk or eye lashes. I just need to remind myself that this is real. That you are real."

"It is, Mac," her hand went to his wrist, grasping it softly, directly on his pulse-point. "It's real."

--

A/N: Phew… finally, this is finished… I mean… I was facing some serious writer's block on this one… can you imagine this eppy? One scene, One Scene, ONE SCENE (insert escalating tone and incredulity in the voice). All that episode and they could only offer us ONE SCENE? Man, I was sleeping on this eppy for the whole 2 weeks it's been out thinking what I can do with this…

I realized from the last 3 chapters that they read more like standalones than in one universe, so that's something I'm hoping to change with the chapters to come, to bring more continuity into each chapter but still not leave it hanging too badly at the end…

And you know how they say the muse like to visit in the bathroom? It's so true… I was in the shower when the whole thing finally clicked for me… (it's not TMI, is it? Oh well… that was nothing perverted anyway… tell me, which of you don't take a shower??)

And yes, Brendon has served his purpose… I don't think I have given an explanationto Stella's date to Brendon… I had something in mind when I wrote that, but I figure, well, I can use that later if that comes up again… :P. Don't hate me… but at least I got them reconciled! Shouldn't that count for some brownie points?

Now, woohoo for this next episode… Stella going all feisty and I hope they will continue this arc with Stella because I can only take so much with SPOILER –

SPOILER –

SPOILER –

Lindsay being pregnant .

SPOILER END -

SPOILER END -

SPOILER END -

But then I'm worried, because I saw the trailer for next week's eppy… and poor Adam? And Mac and Stell are at it again? Though through no faults of mine! We'll see… We'll see…

Now… you know what I'm going to ask, right? Pretty please with a big red strawberry on top?


	5. Tout va bien: The Cost of Living

**Title**: Tout va bien

**Author**: KiKi

**Disclaimers**: All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

**Spoilers**: The Cost of Living

****A somewhat important announcement at the bottom...****

* * *

He watched her from a distance before approaching, and when he did, he did it stealthily and calmly so not to startle her. She had tried to hide it, but she had been acting like a caged animal – not that he blamed her.

It was pointless, however, because even before he reached striking distance, she had turned around and pinned him with a glare just as her hand went to her holster.

It was reflex, he told himself, as his hands went up in surrender, "It's just me, Stell."

She visibly relaxed and let out a sigh. Still, she looked upset, "What the hell were you thinking creeping up on me, Mac?"

He shrugged. Hopping onto the barstool that had been vacant beside her, he immediately frowned when he saw the glass she was playing with.

"Please don't tell me you are drinking alcohol," he asked, and hoped he didn't sound as chiding as he thought he did.

"So I won't tell you then," she said as she looked up at him, her eyes hard, as if daring him to contradict.

She didn't look good, and if anything, she looked even worse than before the case had been solved. Granted, her attack had shaken her up, but she had bounced back strong, taking charge of the investigation once again.

She had been in good spirits after the arrest. If anything, she was light-hearted, laughing with him and smiling with him.

At the moment, however she looked visibly shaken and distressed. That led him to think it was something worse than her attack. Something more recent and definitely something more upsetting.

"Stella? You okay?" he asked, and his only response a nonchalant shrug.

He couldn't take his eyes off her though, and despite her not talking to him, he sent a silent prayer that she was still okay and still beside him.

Just the mere thought of that attack sent chills down his back.

It shouldn't even be Stella's case. It wasn't her turn to be on-call, but she had come to him earlier and quietly demanded to take Lindsay's place on the on-call line up.

"That girl had been looking haggard and run-down more than usual lately, Mac. She needs her rest," she had stated simply, and he had acquiesced.

Not that Mac Taylor could ever deny Stella Bonasera anything.

Granted, the whole team had worked the case together at the end, but it shouldn't have been Stella running around chasing down leads.

She shouldn't have been out there attracting the lunatics and getting kicked around.

He had been at the lab when her call came in, and his heart rate sky-rocketed at the news. Stella hadn't been out chasing a suspect or anything. She was just going out to grab something eat before heading over to search an apartment.

He had left the lab in such a hurry that many of the lab techs had stared at him in bafflement.

He cared not one bit.

Getting to Stella was his priority and he would gladly dress in a clown's suit with the big red nose and tear-drop eyes if it meant he could get to her faster.

In his case, the siren did a relatively good job, and the moment he jumped out of the Denali, he broke into a mad run to the ambulance.

The paramedics were around her and checking her over. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She had taken off her jacket and he could already see the bruising on her upper arm where flesh connected with pavement. From her expression, he could tell she was in pain and in shock, but she was still strong.

At that moment, he hated himself. He knew his train of thoughts would get him nailed by stiletto heels if they were ever voiced, but he couldn't stop himself.

He hated himself for failing her, and every time she was hurt it added to the weight on his conscience. He should have been with her. He should have done something to prevent this from happening.

It didn't matter that he knew it wasn't possible, that unless he started sending out his detectives in pairs, there was nothing much he could have done.

Having said that, it didn't take away from his desire to keep her as close to him as possible. He wanted to know she was safe and well wherever she was.

Death by stilettos be damned, he wanted to keep her safe.

He had refrained from hugging her and never letting her go at the scene, mindful of the people around. Instead, he watched her, leaving enough room for her to breathe but sticking close enough to catch her should she fall.

And so, here he was, sitting in the same bar she had found him weeks ago, their positions reversed. Usually he was the one stubbornly guarding all the thoughts and emotions close to his chest and Stella would be the one prying the information from him. He wondered if she felt as frustrated by his refusal to share as he was at the moment.

If Stella Bonasera wanted to keep something secret, it would take much more than a simple question to pry it out of her.

But Mac Taylor was not one to give up easily either. She was his partner and best friend and everything; he would not let her wallow in whatever was upsetting her alone. If she was going to drown, he would drag her back up or go down with her fighting.

"You really shouldn't be drinking, especially with the pain killers the doctor has prescribed for you."

This attempt earned him another glare, and he was determined to get her to talk. He held her gaze, looking deep into her and trying to decipher the emotions and break down her walls.

"I'm not taking the painkillers," she finally stated. "They make me groggy."

"You're supposed to rest, that's the whole point. Take tomorrow, more if you need. It wasn't even your turn to be on call that night Sutton was found."

She didn't reply to that. She continued to trace her finger tips along the rim of the empty glass in front of her.

Joanna the bartender appeared with his usual Jack Daniels but he shook his head, "Just coffee for tonight, please."

Stella turned at that comment and looked at him with questions in her eyes.

"Just because I chose not to drink doesn't mean something's wrong," he replied and she simply nodded.

If he had hoped she would find equal amusement in how this conversation was mirroring the one they had a few weeks back, he was sorely disappointed.

She returned to staring at her drink; he took a sip of his coffee.

He continued to study her, the strength in her hands, the expression on her face, the wince when she moved the wrong muscle. He waited. Patience was one of the virtues his mother had instilled in him since childhood.

"He works at the Greek Embassy."

Mac wasn't sure what she meant, and so, he kept silence.

"I was there to see if we can be put into contact with someone who can authenticate the coin. When I got there, this man came into the room and the hair on the back of my neck just stood up."

It took him a while, but finally, the dots connected in his head and he felt his heart rate flared up again, "He saw you? With the coin? Your attacker saw you, and you didn't think to tell me or call me?"

"And what am I going to say, Mac? That I think I saw my attacker, whom I could not positively identify? That maybe he works for the Greek Embassy?"

He knew he was only adding to her agitation, but Mac couldn't help but want to shake some sense into Stella, "You still should have told me, Stella. It doesn't matter. He came after you once and now he knows you have the coin."

"There was nothing to substantiate anything, Mac. We had nothing. No hair, nothing more than generic fiber, not DNA. I mean, I'm pretty sure it was him, but I can't be 100% certain. It was just the way he looked at him, and his voice. He was just standing there and for all I know, he could just have the same accent as my attacker."

He knew she was right, but that didn't make it any easier. His hand shot out held onto her forearm. He winced at her gasp.

"Where are your painkillers, Stella?"

"Not taking them," she was adamant though her face still grimaced in pain. "I told you, they make me groggy and I can't be caught groggy now."

His heart constricted when understanding dawned on him. Stella Bonasera was scared. She was afraid, and yet she was still too proud and too independent to ask for help.

"Then let me stay awake for you," his voice was soft, the earlier edge and irritation in him and left, leaving only the raw emotions behind.

She paused, before letting out a sigh, "I can take of myself, Mac. Plus, he's dangerous."

"So am I, when I want to be," he countered softly. He stood up behind her and searched the pockets of her coat, fishing out the plastic bottle of pills. "How much did you have to drink earlier?"

She turned around looked into his eyes this time, and he let her. Difficult as it was for him, he needed Stella to trust him and to do that, he needed her to know how much he cared. So he held her gaze and let her search for what she needed to see.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and leaned back into him slightly. His arms went out around her shoulder.

"It wasn't alcohol. It was just ginger ale."

Nodding, he took out two pills and watched as she swallowed the pill with some water Joanna had brought over.

Tugging her up gently, he prompted, "Come on. Let's get you home."

Stella didn't protest. She settled her tab and let him help her with his coat. He kept a watchful eye on her, and brushed the hair off her face. Once ready, he wrapped his hand around hers and led her out to the parking lot.

He let go of her hand only when needed. Soon as they were back on the road, Mac's hand reached over and grasp hers in his.

"We'll get that bastard, right?" she asked when they were stopped at a traffic light.

"We will," he promised.

"Yes, we will," she echoed and leaned back against the head rest, her eyes loosing some of its sharp focus but still fighting to stay awake.

"It's okay, Stella. I'm here." She didn't question him. Instead, she nodded and let her eyes drift closed.

"It'll all work out, Stella. It'll all be fine. I'll make certain of that."

* * *

Okay, announcement first:

I am going to have to **change my penname**, because apparently someone's been sending email with that pen name... I don't know if that's an attempt to impersonate me or that we just happen to share the same pen name, but I just figured... I should change it just in case :(... I won't change it for another week... but please don't freak out or stop reading if you see the author name of this story is changed! Apparently, the** link to my author's page will be changed** as well... so...

A/N: this is finally done... FINALLY... you know the funny thing is? I watched this episode and I went, oh yes, this will be such a good episode for Mac & Stella moments... then when I actually sat down to write it, it's so hard because there are so many juicy details that I want to include and they kept distracting me from the main thing in this chapter (Probably being sick and having asthma attack while trying to write didn't help either...)

For example, autumngold, I was trying to incorporate that dream in this chapter, but then it just turned out to be too much, just the same as I wanted to do that the last chapter... maybe next time... I have an opening that I have been wanting to use this time around and it didn't quite work out...

and Lily: I hope you like the clown reference :). I threw that in there for you coz you seem to like my outtake from my last chapter :).

It's funny now because at this moment, I'm 5 chapter into the story and I'm certainly feeling the pressure of staying in character and still keep things interesting... it's certain a struggle because I'm adding another layer of emotions that aren't on the show and yet I still have to keep that in character...darn writers... why can't you just make Mac & Stella together?

I know I'm behind on some of the PM's... and that's because I was really really sick and then I just wanted to get this chapter done first... I'll reply ASAP...

So, I hope you guys like this... and you know what to do :P. I feel like getting some cupcake this week... anyone?

_Edits: 6:14pm... I always feel so horrible for the first-run people... because... well... let's just say I always manage to let some edits slip through before catching them... and the first run's ALWAYS has grammar mistake.... so... sorry about that..._

_And yes, I was asked what I think my new penname would be... I'm thinking somewhere something that has to do with dragonflies... dunno what's taken yet so won't know until next week for sure, but look for this story next Wed / Thurs and you'll know my name penname :).  
_


	6. Ce qui est important: Enough

**Title**: Ce qui est important

**Author**: KiKi

**Disclaimers**: All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

**Spoilers**: Enough

---

Life was good, Mac Taylor decided as he walked shoulder to shoulder with Stella Bonasera. He was relaxed and enjoying the evening. For the first time in a long while, Mac Taylor felt content.

They had just had a great dinner. The food was excellent, and conversation flowed easily between them. They talked like they always do, about everything and nothing, touching on Lindsay's trip to her friend's wedding, chuckling over Hawkes' odd but interesting discoveries about San Francisco, and amusing themselves with Danny and his excitement about his trip to Costa Rica.

And they talked about Bueno Aires, envisioning the sun and the warm climate as opposed to the harsh New York weather.

They talked about their lives, about the article from that morning's Post and the old lady who lived across from Mac's apartment with her cats.

This evening, there was another layer to their conversation. The two friends dined together often, but never like this. This evening, sitting across from one another in the cozy restaurant, a whole new level of conversation was carried out without words – instead, there were tiny smiles and gestures and almost brushes against one another's hand. He wasn't at all sure if what they did would constitute flirting, but labelling it wasn't all that important on Mac's list; all he knew was he enjoyed it, and he would like it to happen a lot more often.

So, all in all, Mac deduced, life was good.

It had taken him a lot of effort and excuses to arrange for both himself and Stella off on the same night. They were both still on-call, but he had instilled on the team that nobody should bother them tonight. Stella needed an evening to relax, he had stated, and he would see to things that it happened.

It wasn't all a lie. It was true her injuries from last week had quickly healed, and she had regained her full range of motion with both of her arms. Still, he could sometimes see that one haunted look in her eyes when she would look over her shoulder.

That broke his heart, the crack at her strong and formidable wall that showed her vulnerability.

He was determined to help her get past all that. Last week, he had promised to watch over her and guard her, and she had let him hover around her a little more than usual. Independent as Stella Bonasera was, it was difficult for her to lean on him too much. He had done what she would allow him to, and had stood back to give her room.

She was slowly working her way back to being her normal self, but the shadows still lingered. Mac Taylor had promised himself he would chase all those shadows away.

So far, this evening, he had been able to keep her mind off those attacks and off work. They had talked and laughed and shared themselves at the restaurant. He intended to keep it up.

They had decided on a walk when both had been reluctant to call it a night after dessert and coffee. There was no particular destination; they set out, shoulders and arms brushing.

He kept close to her, his hand always on her back and he made sure he was between her and the crazed New Yorkers speeding down the roads at all times. She hadn't missed his gestures – one raised eyebrow and a wry smile had betrayed her amusement when he deliberately walked to the other side of her as they exited the restaurant – but she didn't say anything.

It felt good to be able to protect the woman who meant everything to him.

And so they walked. For the past thirty minutes, they walked, enjoying each other's company but without really saying much. They didn't need words. Being close together was enough.

When they stopped at a traffic light, he glanced over at her and caught her yawning for the third time since they left the restaurant.

Concerned, he held her elbow to turn her to face him, "Do you want me to take you home? You look like you need some rest."

She shook her head, "Not yet."

He looked at her, closely and carefully, not as a colleague but as the woman who held all his dreams and his reality. He saw the bags under her eyes, the weariness that had replaced the sparkles in her eyes when her guard was down (like now), and the tiredness that had accompanied her beauty this past week.

They weren't obvious signs, but for those who knew her well enough, they were glaring alerts despite her same energetic and passionate appearance while she chased down thugs in stiletto heels and pinned them down with a glare. For people who knew her, they would have picked up the signs.

He knew her that well; he should have noticed. _When did she get so good at hiding things from me?_

He halted her with gentle pressure on her elbow, "Stella? What's on your mind?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, "I just – I am just not sleeping well."

"When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" he asked, and he dreaded the answer.

She bit her lips, still refusing to look at him in the eyes, and shrugged, "A week ago? Maybe longer?"

So this had started before her attack, he surmised, and he hated himself for not speaking up earlier.

People were pushing at them to cross the street once the lights had changed, and they went along. Silence resumed as they walked again, but this time, he was paying more attention.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" he queried gently, tentatively, once they had cleared the crossroad. He needed to know she was alright, needed her to share a bit of herself with him.

"I know," she nodded and kept on walking.

It was another fifteen minute before they stopped. Actually, it was Stella who had led him to sit down at a bench facing Ground Zero, the one place that he used to frequent but had forced himself not to visit in recent years. He knew he needed to move on, but by God, he still missed Claire.

There weren't many people around at this time of the evening, and they sat, looking at the site where his world almost ended all those years back.

"It was so real, you know? I could smell the fuel in the air and that smell of burnt flesh. I'll never forget that smell," her quiet voice broke the silence between them. He turned to watch her, curious, and waited.

"That day, you called me from that plane. The thought that it might be a hi-jacking was in my mind the whole time I waited for you to land. It was like I was rushing here with you that morning and watching the world crumbled around us again. It sucked the breath out of me and I was just left with this mad panic. All I could think about was getting to you and making sure you were still with me."

Guilt ate at him. Thinking back to that day when she had demanded to know of his well-being and he doggedly pushed her away, not realizing the distress she had been in.

He knew what she meant, about the smell and the noise; he knew that smell of fuel and burnt flesh that was haunting her. The same smell had haunted him for a long time, and it would resurface whenever they had a crime scene that involved a fire and burnt victims. He could get used to dealing with that emotions, but they never really went away.

She had been his rock throughout, but what had he done for her?

He would protect her at all cost, that was a given. Last week's attack was a little too close to his comfort. Mac had vowed to look out for her physical well being, and he planned to guard her from all the ugliness in this world that weighed her down mentally. He knew it was as close to impossible as things could be: she was a cop – a damn good one; she had already seen the many ugliness in this world and had attracted her fair amount of enemies.

Still, he would try. He needed to try, because the last few months of flirting the boundaries between friendship and something much much more had brought him the realization that his life wouldn't worth much without her in it.

Sure, he would survive, there would be no broken heart so shattered that he would bleed to death, nor would the world crumble down on him because Stella Bonasera had ceased to exist. No, those were for dramas and fictions. Mac Taylor would continue to breathe and exist. He simply wouldn't live.

He had had a taste of what that life was like when he lost Claire; he had no intention of living in that hell again.

He looked up with a grimed expression, and saw her looking at him intently with a small, sad smile on her features.

"What?" he asked, cocking his head to the side to study her as she did him.

"You're thinking too much again," she commented. "And that hero complex of yours, it's coming out again."

"Stella – " he sighed, and she cut him off by squeezing his arm.

"Mac, I know you care, but you have to know that I can take care of myself, and there are just some demons I need to fight on my own."

"You can at least let me be there with you when you fight them," he countered in a matching soft tone. "You don't have to fight this alone, not anymore."

Stella nodded, "I know, but you need to know, none of the bad things that happened to me was your fault. Not with Drew Bradford, not with Frankie, not with my nightmares, not with my attack last week. You can't take responsibilities for all the bad things that happened, Mac."

"Everything's different with you, you know," he countered. "You do know that, right? That everything changes when you are concerned; everything else takes a back seat when it comes to you."

He watched her and waited painstakingly as she digested his almost-confession. The emotions swelling inside him was strong, and he needed her to understand how serious this was for him, and hoped that she felt the same.

Her admission came in the form of a gentle squeeze on his arm, "It's the same with me. You know that too, right?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Yes, indeed, he was important to her just as she was to him.

It felt good to be so important to someone else again.

Mac hesitated, but a look into her eyes helped him make up his mind. Lacing up his fingers with hers, he brought the back of his hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the smooth skin before trapping her slender hand between his.

And they sat, together, content.

Until the buzzing in his pocket demanded his attention. Still linking his hand to hers, he took the phone out with one hand and checked the message.

_3 dbs, 3 scenes. Need u and SB._

"It would be too easy if we could just have tonight for ourselves, wouldn't it?" he sighed.

"If things all happen the way we want it to, where would the fun be?" she countered, a teasing smile on her face. "Duty calls, I guess?"

"Yea," he nodded. Replacing the phone back into his pocket, he stood up. "We need to get back to the car."

She stood to face him and with a soft smile. Grinning as she turned to face him, she leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, "Thank you, for tonight. I do love Italian."

He froze, and he could only imagine the surprised expression he wore when she laughed while wiping her lipstick off his face, "We gotta get back to work."

"Crimes never stop, I guess," he said after recovering his composure. He tightened her grip on her and watched as she laughed at his feigned grumpiness.

He walked with her by his side, her laughter still ringing in his ears.

At the moment, life was good for Mac Taylor indeed.

---

Haha… I almost got you, didn't I? You all thought this started after they left the Argentinean restaurant, didn't you? Haha… it took me a long time to make it so that it can give you the wrong impression… just thought I'd be sneaky for a bit… don't worry, the Argentinean restaurant bit, that would come next week… I just figured… I need a little bit of buffer… I haven't been able to scope out many spoilers for upcoming episodes and so I'm a little hesitant to commit too much at the same time… and anyway, as I was writing the post-ep for Enough… it got to WAY too long so I decided to cut it before it drags on to be a full-length story itself… haha…

But then… I hope you like it… autumngold, don't feel horrible… it was good that you let me know how you think Stella should talk about the dreams… I've been trying to work that into the story for a long time now but then it's always too much, dealing with the dream and dealing with the episode… this actually gives me a little more room to play when I'm not strictly adhering to the airing schedule… I'm also preparing for the December break so I will have a few more episodes before I run out of first-run's :P.

Moska, thanks for your kind words… it means a lot that people do like this story enough… I'm so excited when there are more of you that comes in each week to read this XD.

And Tayuyax, thanks for pointing out my French… I actually don't use those translating devices… but let's just say I hope to God my French prof will NEVER see those errors… because otherwise I can kiss my A in that class goodbye… I just write down the thought and sometimes I forget to change them… which is probably why there are so many errors… hee… I'm lazy and those are not my working title…

And how do you guys like Mac's little PDA? I originally had them interrupted by the phone before they kissed, but that was a little too cliché… not that this one wasn't… but the other thing was… I don't think I can see Mac kissing in public, no matter now tempted he was… I really think kissing her hand was about as far as he would go… but of course, Stella is always a little more daring :P… I hope I hadn't gone too much off character here… please do let me know what you think…

I've been meaning to say this... for those of you who read the stories early on... you'll probably notice a lot of typos and errors... and I do apologize for that... I proof my own writing, but then I almost am guaranteed to have missed some... and I usually come back to change them later... so, please... bear with me... :P

And OOOooo… Stella go breaking rule… and that kiss between Flack and Jess? Wow! and the 100th ep… Mac in a swimming pool.. *drool*…

Now I'm shutting up now… btw, the review button's right down at the left bottom corner XD.

Cheers.


	7. Pour lui: Enough

**Title**: Pour Lui

**Author**: KiKi

**Disclaimers**: All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

**Spoilers**: Enough

---

Stella hated moments like this. There were always the guesses, the uncertainties. What was the right thing to do? An invitation to her apartment? Or a simple goodbye in the car and flashed her light three times to let him know she had made it in safely? Maybe a peck of his cheek after she said goodbye? How about letting him walk her up to her apartment?

There were too many different ways things could have turned out. The possibilities were overwhelming, so were the emotions involved. So many things – both good and bad, excellent or completely detrimental to their relationship, platonic or otherwise – could have been interpreted.

Things had been moving slowly. Over the past week, and definitely after the dinner they shared at the small French restaurant two days ago, they were slowly, but surely, building on their relationship. Now, she wasn't fooling herself anymore. When she touched him at the lab, when her fingers brushed his as they passed over evidence or report or coffee mugs, it was no longer written off as accidental. It was deliberate, and oh-so-anticipated.

Still, it wasn't anything drastic. They simply weren't people who would jump into a relationship head first. Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera knew what they wanted. They knew they had their fair shares of baggage, and they both had too much at stake to act carelessly.

Plus, why rush the moment and ruin the process when they would have forever to share their lives?

She was still undecided on the approach when his hand touched her shoulder, "Stella!"

She jumped, quite literally, from her seat, "Do you have to do that?"

"Well, I did call you a few times before I resort to shouting. You were just too far away to hear me," Mac shook his head in amusement. "And you accuse me of thinking too much all the time."

"Well, you do," she said pointedly, "and I have been known to come up with rather brilliant thoughts quite often, you know?"

"And would you care to share one of those brilliant thoughts that had led us to sit out here in your parking lot for the past minute and a half?"

She squinted her eyes at him, and turned to look out the window. True to his words, they were already parked in her visitor's spot.

Decision time had come and gone.

Suddenly, she was unsure of herself.. What would she find when she looked at him again? Did he expect to spend a little more time together? Did he want to stay a little longer with her?

When she looked over though, she saw the signs of anticipation, and maybe, very possibly, the same indecision she was feeling. Her gaze held his, and they just sat in the car and let time pass them by.

He reached out his hand and brushed some hair off her cheek. She leaned into his hand and turned her head to press a kiss into his palm.

He sighed, his eyes closed and his hand still softly caressing her cheek, "Come on, I'll walk you up."

She nodded and got out of the vehicle with him. He extended his hand to her. Naturally, as if they had done this a million times over, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to lead her into her own apartment.

It wasn't often that Stella Bonasera relinquished control. It took the right person and the right level of trust. Mac Taylor was no doubt the right person; she would trust him with her life, and more and more, she was trusting with her heart.

They made it to her apartment all too soon for Stella's liking. He waited, by the door, as she made no move to enter her apartment.

She didn't want to let go; wasn't ready for the evening to end, but she was afraid to push. She wasn't sure if she would ever be ready for any time she spent with Mac Taylor to end.

Still, he waited. The perfect gentleman, who would never push her to do anything she wasn't ready to do. He waited, for her, with her, in the dimly lit hallway outside her apartment.

"Thanks for the evening," she turned to face him, surprised to find her voice suddenly laced with a tint of shyness.

When did Stella Bonasersa become shy around Mac Taylor?

"You're welcome," he responded – and did she imagine how his voice sounded lower, huskier than usual?

She leaned into him to place a small kiss on his cheek. She could feel his unease – Mac Taylor had never been one for public display for affection. But she wasn't.

They simply had to compromise.

She snaked her arms around his middle to hug him, and noticed not for the first time how tensed he was. He was strung tight, and just from the way he was carrying himself, Stella could tell he was stressed.

Beyond stressed, with tension simmering just beneath the surface.

She pulled back to look at him – really look at him. Even his eyes weren't as bright as they usually were. Still, they were the sharpest, clearest blue eyes she had ever seen, but they had lost some of its sparkles. She took in his features. The lines of his forehead appeared deeper.

And in that instance, all the indecision was gone.

What Mac Taylor needed at the moment was simply a friend, and she could never stop being his friend.

She fished out her keys from her purse and slipped her hand back into his before opening her door. He didn't say anything when she tugged at him to follow her in.

He did stop just inside her apartment though. Wetting her lips, a surge of nervousness went through her. What was he thinking now? What was _she_ thinking for that matter? Was she pushing? Would it turn into something neither of them knew what to do with?

Mac had only been to her apartment once or twice since she had moved after the fire, and that would be once or twice more than he had visited her previous apartments. They rarely visited each other's home.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy his company. On the contrary, she liked spending time with him. Their nights out were always anticipated, but many of them were spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment decision, and almost always took place outside of their homes.

It was simply that opening her home to someone – anyone, even someone as perfect and right and trustworthy as Mac Taylor – was a vulnerability Stella Bonasera didn't want to allow happen too often.

He had certainly not been at her apartment since they had started getting this dance with one another.

Snapping back to the present, she realized he was still standing just in the entrance to her apartment, looking every bit uncertain as she had felt.

"Let's get some coffee?" she asked, shaking their still joint hand slightly to get him to look at her.

"Stella," he said her name softly, the unasked question clear.

"I have coffee," she shrugged, side-stepping his intended question, "and a lot more Irish whisky than I know what to do with. We should use it up to make our version of Irish Coffee."

He was still rooted to the same spot, looking at her quizzically.

"Mac," she sighed, "Don't over think, alright? This is you and I, this is for Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera. This is us. Let's just make the Irish Coffee and talk a little more, alright?"

He was still looking at her, making no move to go further into her apartment, nor moving to get out. So she just stayed with him in the foyer of the apartment and waited.

"Stella, I," he started and stopped. She waited. She wasn't only joking when she said he thought too much. He needed time to process his emotions, even if he wasn't able to understand them, or put a label on them sometimes.

So she waited, and was rewarded with a soft answer, "Yea, Irish Coffee sounds good."

She smiled at his acquiescence.

Together they moved through her apartment into the small kitchen. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved around getting things ready. That made her a little nervous.

The easy silence that was usually between them had suddenly evaporated. She was jittery. Her hands shook a little as she went about getting the coffee into the coffee maker.

He reached over, a slightly steadier hand covering hers, "Stell -"

She looked up at him, her hand tingled where his hand touched hers.

He looked suddenly uncomfortable and visibly swallowed, "Thanks - for doing this."

She nodded, "You're welcome."

And just like that, she could breathe easier and her nervousness fled.

Mac knew what she was trying to do; he wasn't put off by it. That was all the permission she needed to do this for him.

She got the coffee started and turned to him, "Let's wait in the living room."

He nodded, and waited until she moved out of the kitchen before following her. There were some things that could never be changed – Mac Taylor being a gentleman regardless of time and location would be one of them.

She led him into the living room and plopped down rather ungracefully onto the couch and patted the seat beside her.

He sat down beside her and leaned back, head back and eyes closed, and let out a sigh.

She looked at him sympathetically, wishing there was something she could do to help him, to make him feel better. Tentatively, she reached out, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

He let out a groan – one she couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure – and she pulled back.

"Sorry," she murmured.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, "No, it's alright. You just hit a particularly sore spot."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Your muscles are all knotted at the back."

He shrugged, "Comes with the job, and dealing with unreasonable bastards."

She couldn't hold back the wry smile that had escaped her lips, "Well, Adam's job is safe for a few more weeks now. Do you think you can let yourself relax a little before you go butt head with Sinclair again?"

"It's a matter of principle, Stella. Even if there were cuts to be made, it shouldn't have come from him. I am in charge of the crime lab; I should at least be in on the decision, not just hearing it from the techs."

Stella added nothing. There was no point in fueling the fire.

"I mean, everything we do these days, we need to jump through hoops. It's no longer what's good for the city and the lab that matters; it's what good for the accountants. I'm just so damn tired of all these bureaucrats trying to tell me how to do my job right."

She nodded when he looked over at her, "I know. It's frustrating, and unfortunately for you, you have to deal with these idiots most of the time."

"Is it too much to ask for? To get someone who is competent in the lab and to keep paying him so we can keep the criminals off the streets?"

"You know I'll agree with you on that," she replied.

"Yea," he admitted and leaned back again. "I'm just tired of their games and the politics."

"I know," she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. This was her partner; this was the man with such honour and integrity that he would strive to do right by everyone and with the passion and intensity to fight for what was right.

She felt blessed knowing him.

"Take off your jacket and turn around," she commanded.

He cocked his head and looked at her, and she simply repeated, "Mac, turn around."

With an indulgent smile on his lips, he did as she requested, draping the suit jacket on the arm of her couch.

"You really need to relax more, because your getting so stressed out? It's not going to help you," she chided softly as she placed her hands once again on his shoulder, this time more surely. "Okay, lean back."

The muscles were wounded tight, too tight, and even the slightest pressure elicited a hiss or a groan from her partner.

But she kept working his muscles, first gently, and slowly building up the pressure. She knew he would likely get all worked up again by the next day, but it didn't matter. If for one night, she could help take a little of his stress away, she would gladly do it.

She kept at her ministration, and felt the muscles loosen bit by bit, and tension seemed to have drained away. Her hands were getting tired and sore, but it didn't stop her. Tonight, at the moment, it was about Mac Taylor.

She wasn't paying attention to how long she's been at it. The tension has seeped away and Stella had to struggle to keep her touch soft and platonic. It was a challenge. She could feel the strong muscles under her fingers, and the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

She did hear the coffee maker beeped, but decided to ignore the beverage for the moment. She was where she wanted to be.

"Stella?" he called out to her at some point, his voice relaxed and sleepy.

"Mmm?" she responded, deft fingers still at work.

He turned around and wrapped his hand around her wrist. He was looking at her, his eyes boring into hers and she could see that the sparks had returned. Along with the other emotions was one that looked suspiciously like adoration.

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead before leaning closer to her, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They stayed, his forehead resting against hers, his hand rubbing hers gently. She could feel his breathe on her, and the lips that she had dreamed of kissing within reach.

He surprised her – maybe even himself – when he leaned even closer; his lips grazed hers, softly, just this once, before he pulled back, "Really, Stella. You're a good friend."

She was too flustered to response. In all her imaginations, she always thought it would be her who would initiate their first kiss. She should have known that Mac Taylor had never been one to do what was expected.

She smiled once she recovered, "I'll go get the coffee."

He nodded, and she could once again feel his eyes on her as she moved around the kitchen. This time, though, it didn't make her nervous.

As quickly as possible, she got everything together and brought it back to the living room. The sight that greeted her made her smile.

Mac Taylor was asleep. He had leaned back against the couch, eyes closed, and snoring softly.

Quietly, she retreated to the kitchen and disposed of the coffee. There was no use for them now.

Instead, she went into her bedroom and changed into a soft cotton night shirt and sweats. She took out the extra blankets and pillow, knowing she would never be able to carry Mac to her bed without waking him.

She made quick work of setting up the couch, but found herself lingering as she moved him to rest more comfortably on it. Before she could let her logical side talk her out of it, she slipped under the blanket with her partner.

Surely, a sore back and neck would await both of them the next morning, but that was for later. Tonight, at this moment, it felt perfect.

That alone was enough.

--

A/N: Oh wow…. It's FINALLY done… haha… I surprised myself…. This is LONG, no? I mean… 7 pages of Mac & Stella… haha… I think I out-did myself in terms of the length category… I know this is a little later than normal (about by 10 hours?), but hey, it's about twice the length!

This chapter has been a struggle though… I actually had a hard time seeing them or hearing them for a long time (if you know me and how I write… I need to be able to visualize Mac and Stella actually doing the things I write before I would post it… otherwise, it's back to the drawing boards). I've had about 4 renditions of how this would go… and I'm still not too sure about what to do… but then, I just want a little fluff and aww moment before going into anything heavier… because, trust me, in anticipation of Stella's big secret and the other spoilers that are making me un-comfortable, I'll start the roller coaster ride for their emotions once again next chapter… okay, maybe not next chapter, but soon!

With that said, please do let me know what you think and if I've gone completely, insanely out of character… I sincerely hope NOT!

Autumngold: yes, I enjoy being sneaky :P. It was just almost too good to pass up, that opportunity to throw a twist in… haha… otherwise, how to keep you guys coming back to read?

And the 100 ep? I could really do with them NOT going all Miami and go crazy with the split screens… we're not 24… URG… but then… did I dream the phone conversation between Mac & Stella at the end??? *squeal!!*

But then… there are 2 things that have decidedly worry me…

1/ What the heck? That was it? Please, God, don't tell me the love interest for Stella that's been boasted the whole time is ADAM! Urg… I'll seriously take this whole story AU if that happens, alright?

2/ on a related notes… people that we care about for Mac translates to a newly met Deputy Inspector? WHAT THE HECK?? The spoiler that there would be a new love interest for Mac, and that it would come in the form of Deputy Inspector Gillian Whitford worries me (this from the official CSI magazine). I mean, HELLO? Has all the writers at CSI:NY gone off their mind? I know Mac needs a little spice in his life, and that we can't have all the CSI's paired up with one another… but pu-leaze, can you really see Mac going out with a SUPERIOR? Granted, he's man enough to date a woman who's higher up than him career-wise, but it's a matter of principles and the strong sense of… work ethics and professionalism, maybe? (Okay, I may be a little bit of a hypocrite because I'm having him go with Stella… but they're both detectives! It's just DIFFERENT!)

Sigh… okay, that's the end of my ranting… I'll now wait anxiously for how it'll all play out…

Oh… maybe the third thing that worries me… reviews, please? :P


	8. Le silence

**Title**: Le silence

**Author**: KiKi

**Disclaimers**: All the CSI:NY characters belong to CBS and whoever that makes the series I can't be expected to keep track of all the people who makes the shows I watch, can I?

---

Work. Flack had called and said he needed her. So, she was at work.

She was at a crime scene, but at the same time, she really wasn't at the crime scene. She was here in person, but she really wasn't here at all. For once in her life, the crime held no appeal to her and she was ready to quit and leave. She wanted to be anywhere but here physically.

Work had come as a welcomed distraction this morning when she was battling the morning after that wasn't really a morning after. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had happened the night before beyond the sharing of body heat and the entangling of limbs.

That morning, she had woken up with her stomach entering the free fall zone doing summersaults along the way and butterflies hard at work inside her. She had been determined to titter between dreams and wakefulness for as long as she could when she was jolted back to reality as her hand found nothing but remaining body heat and limped blankets beside her.

Deep inside her, she knew what had happened, but still, she forced herself to check.

He was gone, as if he hadn't spent the night on her couch.

Of all the scenarios she had in her head, of all the possible reactions she had dreamed up before she slipped under the blankets with her partner the night before, this was the one scenario which she had tried not to think about. She had been so confident this would not have happened, that Mac Taylor would stay, despite the awkwardness and weirdness.

She had been so-so-stupid.

Which left her here, attempting to work a crime scene with Mac Taylor not five feet away looking at their latest victim.

Maybe she and Mac really were not on the same page with regards to their relationship.

And Flack might have caught onto her unease. He had been looking at her funny, and she wasn't at all sure how to deal with his questions. Detective Don Flack could be worse than a dog after a bone when he wanted to be.

"Stel, you alright?" Flack. His voice snapping her back to the scene. He was definitely too perceptive for his own good.

"Oh, yea, yea. I'm fine. Just thinking. What's up?"

The younger man looked sceptical, "Well, it's just that both you and Mac are both looking a little hinky this morning."

She had to work on keeping her expression neutral.

"What about Mac?"

Flack gave her a look that said he wasn't buying a word she just said, "Didn't you see the man when you got here?"

Of course she did. She saw him, cool and detached. Just another day for the impeccable Detective Mac Taylor.

She was determined that appear just as professional and distanced.

Getting back to Flack's question, she glanced at the younger detective, "I did, and?"

"Okay, now I am thinking some if the reason you guys have something to do with each other's weird mood."

She forced a chuckle at Flack's comment. The man had no idea how true his words were, or how much they made her heart ache.

"Flack, are you sure you're not the one that's being - uh - hinky this morning?"

"Stella, did you really take a good look at the man? Same suit as yesterday? Apparently haven't been home yet to shave? Heck, if he were here smelling like coconuts and fruits and showing a bit more smile I would say he got lucky last night."

"And that would be absolutely none of your business," the subject of their discussion had materialized behind Flack.

Flack visibly cringed and glared at Stella, "You could have warned me, you know."

She tried to send him a smile with as much sympathy she could muster, but she knew there wouldn't be much. The partners watched as the younger detective walked away to talk to a witness.

Then, there was silence, feet shifting uncomfortably; dirt at their feet suddenly becoming worthy of analysis.

No wonder Flack could tell something was wrong. Heck, at this rate, even a toddler could tell something was wrong.

Finally, he broke the ice, "So, what have you got?"

She shrugged, willing the flush from reaching her face and steeling her hand from running through her curls, "Nothing much. The blood trail stops rather abruptly here, with tire tracks. We're likely looking at a body dump."

He nodded, "Have Danny cast an impression of the tracks."

"Already done."

Deep breaths. In and out. Slowly and carefully.

Stella looked over at her partner, and found with dismay that she really couldn't control the light fluttering in her heart when Mac Taylor was so close to her.

He was so close, and yet at the moment, he was so far away. How completely opposite this felt to their normal routines.

She wasn't really angry with him. Really, she wasn't. But just when she thought they were going somewhere, that maybe they were both at the same page and both ready to take another step forward together, his departure that morning had been like a slap to her face.

In some way, she knew she should have expected this from Mac. She had known the man for years. She should have known that pushing too far too soon would equate pushing him out of her life.

She knew Mac wouldn't deliberately be hurtful in his action. It was the panic and the uncertainty acting out, but still, it hurt.

Maybe she had expected too much too soon. Maybe he had too little to offer.

Maybe everything really wasn't it seemed.

There were just times when her emotions overrode her logical judgments.

"So are we just going to pretend nothing happened last night?" she asked, wincing at the edge in her own voice. She hadn't meant to inflict any more damage to their relationship.

"I left you a note, Stella," he said, almost tiredly.

Right. The note. The one which he had stuck under her coffee machine; the one which explained that Flack had paged him to a scene; the one which apologized for his rummaging through her medicine cabinet for the new toothbrush and for getting into her stash of coffee; the one which left an empty feeling inside her with how detached he was emotionally. THAT note.

"Of course you did," she replied coldly. She was biting the inside of her lower lip so hard that she could taste the iron in her blood.

"Stella," he sighed, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. "Are we ready for this? I mean? Do you really think we're ready?"

She looked at his sadly. Of course she knew where he was coming from. She had the same doubts, the same insecurities about this – whatever this was – between them. But she had decided to confront it head-on, because she had decided that Mac Taylor was worth it.

Apparently, she had neglected to send him that memo.

He was still looking at her, seemingly bearing a hole in her soul.

"I think we are," she stated, without a shadow of doubt in her mind. "I think we are ready to see where things will lead to, to see what will happen if we just let things go. I think we are ready to look deeper into ourselves to find out what we want in our lives. I think we are ready to be happy. The question is, Mac, if _you_ are ready."

And she finished by staring at him, looking into his eyes and daring him to contradict her. For the first time in the day, she could see the emotion welling in his sky blue orbs. The whole array of them: affection, adoration, resolve, nervousness. Still, she waited. He needed to say it; he needed to let himself say it.

But he didn't. For the longest moments, they held each other's gaze and waited.

Before she finally surrendered.

"It's alright, Mac. Sometimes, silence is the most honest response."

--

A/N: Finally this one is here... I've been having computer trouble the whole morning and I couldn't get online... blah... welcome to the world of technology where we can all stop living once the technologies give out! (Yes, I'm bitter about that!)

So... here it is... and I'm still kind of sort of stuck on Enough... in a way, I need this chapter to turn the story around... and my last week's spontaneous decision to have them "sleep" together really helped me... haha... I'm in unchartered territory here! and Yes... finally in Kiki's world, Mac and Stella don't exist in a vaccum... Flack makes an appearance... man, that guy's tone is hard to nail down! I hope this "fall-out" between Mac & Stella is to your satisfaction... I'm only drawing on Mac's only other on screen relationship to guess his response... sigh... and Stella's relationship shad been so dysfunctional that it's hard to see...

So... I gave out a warning last time that the smooth sail was over... so here I delivered! Yes, the emotional roller coaster is back for Mac & Stella... I'm waiting for the new eps, which apparently we won't get again until 2 weeks later...

And then, how do you like last nights? I'm actually thinking that it was done much better than I thought it would... with the whole Danny & Lindsay thing going on... LOVED the last scene with the hands (Lily, is it us or are they picking us up on our cues about the hands :P). I'm glad Gillian Whitford wasn't in this... but I miss Angell...

And Adam... oh, Adam, so cute! Oh.. Uh... Em... Thank you... *Awwwww*...

Now... please... send a review... :)... or I'm going on strike when we don't have new episodes aired!!! *pout*.

Cheers,

Ki


	9. Selon elle, selon lui: Dead Inside

﻿Title: Selon elle, selon lui

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: They're not mine. We're not delusional. I just like to take them out to play.

Spoiler: 5.07 – Dead Inside

--

Her apartment was quiet, so quiet that she could hear clearly the rain hitting against her window and the wine sloshing around in her wine glass.

The only thing she really disliked about living alone was the lack of sound when she was home. Since childhood, she had been used to having people around at all times (at the orphanage, at the foster homes, at college dorms, at the police academy). Silence to her was like a prison. It was suffocating and troublesome. Hence she never liked the lab at night. Too quiet. Too lifeless.

Yet, strangely, at this hour, she did not mind the quietness that surrounded her one bit. Granted, it made her hyper sensitive to her surroundings, but that was to be expected after the weeks she had just had.

Very simply, she needed the quietness and the time to sort through the thoughts in her head. She couldn't do that with too much noise. As of late, her life had turned into something alike a soap opera. That didn't sit well with her.

Stella Bonasera had always hated the dramatics.

The light in her living room was turned off, but the outside was bright enough that she could see well enough in her apartment. The solemn scene suited her mood just fine.

And so, here she was, in a self-imposed isolation from the outside world, trying to make sense of where it had all gone wrong, to figure out where her life had started spiraling out of control, to sort out how she let herself get so close to being a punching bag for the unknown criminal once again.

Not that the threatening phone call or the dead rat had rattled her. No. She was angry and beyond frustrated. She was tired of playing victim to the different psychotic criminals who had made it their mission to complicate her life.

Normally, she would have told him, of the packages she received, of her readiness to lash out at her attacker, of her weariness of the situation. Of her intention to really go break some rules with Danny. Now, however, with their relationship as it was, it just didn't feel right.

That thought alone made her uneasy. She could count on one hand they had deliberately keep things from each other. She trusted him with her life, and he shared the same sentiments towards her.

She also trusted him to take care of her heart and soul, and she had vowed to so the same for him.

Both had failed miserably at the latter.

Regardless, it was still very difficult keeping things from her boss and friend. It made her wonder about the state of their relationship. Maybe she really was asking too much, too soon; she was expecting something from him that he was unlikely to give.

She wasn't seeking a marriage proposal or a declaration of love. She knew he was far from being ready for that. No, she was merely looking for a sign that he was prepared to move things along in the right direction. With her.

Her decision to push for answers at a crime scene might not be the wisest, but her temper and frustration at his cool detachment had reigned. Very often, she found her logical side waning in all matters related to Mac Taylor.

And damn it, his detachment hurt.

Miraculously, their rather public disagreement had gone through the grapevine rather smoothly and painlessly. Of course there were the usual whispers behind their back, but their lack of response and the romantic forays of a cop from Narco quickly made them old news. Still, the brief but very public scrutiny of their relationship had made the painfully private Mac Taylor uneasy. He was still working with her, but the touches were gone.

The tension between them had become unbearable. They hadn't shared a shift since that day she had demanded answers. Her pride wouldn't let her succumb to seeking him out first, and she suspected the same of him. And so, day after day, she went to work with her head held high and her eyes clear, determined to show him that she was fine.

That she was very well even though her heart was growing heavier by the day.

What had bothered her more about this whole thing was how she couldn't read him, how, all of a sudden, it seemed as though she no longer understood her best friend. She had thought he was ready, especially after he had kissed her that night in her apartment. She had thought he was ready to cast aside all the doubts and insecurities and really see what they could be.

Just as she had never expected him to withdraw from her so quickly after spending the night together on her couch.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, they had lost the ability to complete each other's thoughts on all subjects outside of work. It felt as if she was loosing the one constant in her life, and that thought made her extremely uneasy. For the longest while, whenever she thought of her future, he was always present. Even if she was happily going out with Frankie, or when he was dating Peyton. Never once in recent years had she imagined her future without him.

For the first time, Stella Bonasera was trying to envision what it would be like carrying on without Mac Taylor. The one move that was supposed to bring them even closer together was the force that was driving them apart.

Life was full of irony. She knew that.

She would drink to that.

Somewhere out in the rain, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump and the glass slipping from her grasp. The glass shattered against the floor.

The honking and loud curses that ensued echoed hers in the apartment. The wine now spilled on the ground, marking the beige carpet she had kept under the coffee table. It was too late.

Just like everything else in her life, it was going to be ruined.

Sighing in resignation, she got the towels from her kitchen and attempted to savage what she still could. Gingerly, she attempted to pick the glass up off the floor, mindful of the scar that still marred her wrist.

It would be the best time for her to have a break down, to let the frustration and anger out. But she had promised herself she would be strong. She would see herself through this while being strong.

She wouldn't break down. She wouldn't shed the tears that were threatening to fall.

The rasp knockings at her door changed all that.

Startled once again, she gasped, and the glass she held in her hand slipped, slicing the skin of her fingers. Blood seeped through the cut and began mixing with the burgundy liquid tainting her carpet.

"Damn it," she cursed out loud, the tears she had vowed to keep at bay finally pushed through her barriers and she was powerless to stop them.

The knocks came again, this time, she flung her head towards the door and glared, willing whoever was on the other side to leave her alone.

Her phone rang; she made no moves to answer.

"Γεια σου, αυτό είναι Stella Bonasera. I'm obviously not able to take your call right now. Leave a message. Have a great day!"

Her voice sounded too cheerful to her own ears. She closed her eyes and waited, listening to the breathing that had come through the phone line.

Nobody spoke. Alarm rising quickly in her.

She shifted uncomfortably on the floor, calculating the distance between herself and the gun locked in the night stand drawer. If she moved now, she might make it before -

The phone rang again, Stella sprang into action. She was focused on getting to her bedroom when he spoke to her answering machine.

"I guess you're not going to answer then," he sounded defeated, his voice raspy. It was more emotion than he had seen from him lately.

_No, I guess I'm not too._

"I just want to call and - and see how you are doing," he carried on.

_I'm doing well enough. I have to. You know that._

"I'm - I just - things have been -" he cut himself off, frustrated, before drawing a deep breath and starting again, "Stella, we need to talk."

He was quiet, no doubt waiting. When it was evident that she wouldn't pick up the phone, he sighed, "I just want you to know that sometimes, silence is not a response. It may be honest, but it also doesn't encompass everything that needs to be said. So, it all comes back to this, that we need to talk."

_I know. We do_.

"Anyway, give me a call back," he requested, and, as an afterthought, "I'll be waiting."

Unseen by him, she nodded.

--

Hello there, everyone… yes, I've FINALLY decided to move ahead from the Enough little spill I've taken you all through, and I hope you've enjoyed my effort to dig myself out of that little OoC hole from last chapter when I had them argue in public… really, I have no idea what came to me when I wrote that… I just hope I haven't dug myself any deeper …

And this one came early :) I just figured that since there'll be no new epi for me to compare notes to tonight, I might as well post it early… don't expect it too often, though… my muse has to cooperate for it to happen!

So, what do you think??? I know, it's dark… I actually had to tone it down a bit when I was writing it coz otherwise it would be too much like suicidal... heh. Not a good idea for Stella. Hopefully now it won't read… I'm so depressed I'm going to kill myself… you can blame my muse if it still does… I just figured that, after all they've been through, especially our Stella in this season… she's entitled to having a wallowing party in her own home, is all I'm saying… and bleh, she nodded at the end… so not all is lost yet!

Things should look up a little next chapter… I have the plot bunnies playing in the sun-shining meadow in my head already and so they should be ready to work once my finals are over and my projects are handed in…

Until then…

--Edits:

Okay... I'm a poli-sci major, and I have a pretty strong opinion on what is going on in Ottawa right now, but let's just pretend I have never put the bit about politics on their... it's just... it'll spark a debate that has nothing to do with our enjoyment of Mac & Stella's bumpy ride...


	10. Les couleurs: My Name is Mac Taylor

Title: Les couleurs

Author: Ki

Disclaimers: They're not mine… nope. They're not!

Spoiler: a very slight one for 5.08 My Name is Mac Taylor.

--

The wind was biting, punishingly cold. He had lost track of time as he ran. They were meaningless anyway, when he was driven solely by the restlessness welling up inside. For a week now, sleep had eluded him.

His steps felt leaden; his body operating on caffeine alone. He needed sleep, he knew. Yet, frustratingly, all he could do for the past week had been to toss and turn in bed and waited for the shades of the moon to fade and the orange sun to shine through his bedroom window again. Occasionally, utter exhaustion would pull him under for a few hours of blissful oblivion, but they were scarce.

He ignored the wind and kept running, willing his heart to pump faster and his legs to stretch further. He wanted to get warm, to sweat. He had been cold lately, not because of the temperature, but from a chill that came from within him, a chill against which blankets and thick winter jackets were useless.

And so he ran, a way he had adopted since he returned from Beirut. He let his feet pound the granite in a consistent rhythm and willed his mind to think of nothing but the next step, and the next. And the next.

It almost worked. Almost, but not quite. He had indeed trained his mind to set aside all thoughts about the cases and the bureaucratic crap that came with his position. But it defied him on one subject, the subject from which he most needed shelter, of which he most desperately needed a break.

Every time he passed by a woman with a head of wild curls, every time a sweet scent that might or might not resemble the smell of coconut mixed with vanilla filled his nostril, every time he raised his head and caught a glimpse of the stars that adorned the night sky, his shield would crumble and he would automatically think of his partner.

Mac Taylor was slowly learning how impossible it was to force Stella Bonasera, with her wild curls and her coconut and vanilla lotion and her fierce loyalty and inner strength, out of his mind.

And he needed to clear his head to think, to figure out what had happened and where things had gone so wrong, to see the big picture again. There was no doubt about his feelings for his partner. Those feelings were deep, and complicated. It was she who brought him back to the land of the living after Claire and 9/11; it was her hands that pulled him out of his self-imposed exile.

He knew of life without Stella Bonasera, had had a glimpse of it before she rescued him from himself, and could already imagine the dull existence that lacked joy and emotions. He did not want to live in that grey world, for he had already grown accustomed to the fiery red and striking emerald and shiny, sparkly gold she brought with her, so much so that he, too, now craved colours in his dreams.

But what he hadn't anticipated was how much his world now, one where Stella was still by his side, but kept at a distance, would resemble the one he dreaded facing.

He missed the colours that brightened up his world.

The tugging in his heart gave him pause, and he sighed. Glancing at his watch, seeing that it was approaching 3 am, he decided to turn around to go home. Sleep would once again elude him tonight, of that he was certain.

The wind was equally cold on his way back. The world around appeared to be even more lifeless than usual. The sight cemented his disdain to the colourless, cold world while his brain refused him the chance to stop thinking, stop analyzing. To stop caring.

Should he have told her he was ready when she asked him - demanded of him - at the crime scene that morning? No, he shouldn't. More than anything, the honesty between them was the one thing he held sacred. He would not lie to her, even for something that he craved.

But was he lying to himself?

The uncertainty was throwing him off. He was not used to second-guessing himself, even his emotions. He was cautious, never one to rush into any decision. He prided himself on his ability to make the right decision, and to hold no regrets in the choices he had made.

Apparently, not this time.

Maybe he was lying to himself; maybe it was the restlessness since Stella had backed away from him that morning that had forced him to realize how prepared he had been. Either way, he was ready to change that situation.

He had made the move, had gone to her apartment, but she had refused to speak with him. He knew she was inside the whole time, knew that she was listening to him through the door and the answering machine. He had made his intentions known. It was now her turn.

And Mac Taylor hated waiting.

What he saw after he rounded the last corner gave him pause. She hadn't spotted him yet, but there she was, all bundled up in her winter jacket and scarf, leaning against the wall outside his apartment.

She was looking down at her hands, the long, elegant fingers with the smooth skin. He wasn't close enough to see clearly, but he could recall, from his memory, how she would be playing with her fingers. It was her habit, something she would do when she was uncertain of herself.

He couldn't stop the annoyance that rose up within him, however. How could she be so careless, to disregard her own safety so much to stand outside his apartment building by herself in the dead of night? She knew, as well as he did, the crime rate, the statistics, the probability. She had processed as many crime scenes of single women attacked in the dark of night as he had. How could she knowingly put herself in such danger?

She must have sensed him the moment he started approaching the building again, because she lifted her head. Their eyes locked, and in that instant, his annoyance fled and his restlessness returned.

"Hi," she said with a smile as he neared her. His mind may be playing tricks on him, but she almost looked relieved to see him. "You're back."

He kept his grim expression and stopped in front of her, "How long have you been standing here?"

She shrugged, "Not long."

He took her in, seeing how she had snuggled into her jacket and wrapped her scarf tightly around herself. Reaching out, he snatched her hand and held it in his, "Your hands are ice cold."

"It's been a cold night."

"Stella - " he started, a trace of warning in his tone.

"It doesn't matter," she shook her head. "Look, you said you want to talk."

"And I do."

"So," she prompted, looking at him expectantly.

He tightened his hold on her hand, slowly re-familiarizing himself with the feel of it nestled inside his, with the tingling from the simple contact.

"Come in before you catch pneumonia," he said, before leading the way into the building.

She gave him a look that could only be translated into _like you're one to talk_, but followed him in nonetheless. He could feel her eyes on him as they walked. Something felt off, it was as if she was re-assuring herself that he was really in front of her.

Once inside his apartment, he started to his coffee machine, "You want to wait 5 minutes while I grab a quick shower?"

She nodded without saying a word, and he gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go and moving to the shower.

The quick shower helped. He felt more awake and ready. Dressed in his sweats, he moved out to his living room once again.

Stella was still there, her winter jacket draped across the arm of his couch, one steaming mug of coffee on the coffee table in front of him.

She turned when she heard him walk in, "Hey, that was quick."

He nodded and watched her as she cradled her own coffee mug in her hands.

"That's for you," she pointed towards the coffee on the table. "No cream, two sugars."

He smiled his appreciation, more for the thought than the beverage, and settled down on the couch, facing her.

"Stella, why did you wait outside?" he had to ask.

"We need to talk," she answered. "That's what you said, right?"

He looked at her closely, taking in her expression, "Yea, we do."

Then they were both silent, their eyes boring into one another's, and waited.

"You haven't been sleeping," she finally said, looking at him intently with a frown marring her features.

"Neither have you," he countered.

"I'm fine," she shook her head. "At least I didn't feel the need to go out running in the middle of the night."

He wondered if he should give her any explanation, "No, but you waited outside my apartment until I get back. Why?"

"Let it go, Mac. It's not important."

"It's upsetting enough that you waited in the cold for me. Stella, please, I need to know. You are worrying me."

She looked away from him, and frankly, he was getting worried. The more reluctant Stella had been with sharing some news, the more serious it was.

She was still refusing to look him in the eyes, he noted. Reaching out to take her hand in his again, he inquired softly, "Stella, I know there is something, and it's worrying me. Would you please tell me what it is?"

Mac knew he was playing dirty, knew that he wasn't giving Stella much choice in denying him, but he needed to know. He needed to push, because the last time he had let her dwell in her own misery he could have lost her to that cruel disease had things turned out differently.

Finally, she sighed, "I - I was collecting the clothes of a victim at Mercy when they brought this guy in. They kept calling him Mr. Taylor. That automatically got my interest, so I was listening. Then, someone asked for his name, his first name."

Stella paused abruptly, her hands were shaking a little. Mac didn't have to hear anymore. He knew what the patient's first name was.

"I'm right here, Stella. I'm fine."

She let out a chuckle, "I know that. I knew that then, too, because I kept thinking if it were you, I would have gotten a call already. So it couldn't have been you. But, you know."

He did know. He understood.

He tugged at her hand until she sat down next to him. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their supposed talk put on hold as they enjoyed the moment of connection.

Time was slipping by, and Mac could feel his own eyelids droop.

"You're tired," she stated, standing up and breaking the moment. "I'll go and let you get some shut-eye before shift."

He held onto her hand even as she stood up. She turned, looking at him with a sombre expression, "We're taking things slow again, aren't we?"

He nodded. Yes, they had to, because he had to learn how to be around her as someone more than a friend again, and she had to do the same. That didn't mean her pulling away from him isn't hurt though.

He stood, facing her, his eyes looking deep into his, silently asking her.

To his disappointment, she turned away and started for the door, "I better get going. Good night, Mac."

"Good night, Stella." He watched as she slipped out, and looked out to the window until she got into a cab and disappeared into the night.

His world was still grey and dull, but at least now, he knew a sun rise was in the horizon.

--

A/N: first off… THANK YOU for the reviews :P. I'm so excited the reviews have passed the 100 mark! Yay! That makes me happy…

And so I thought to celebrate that occasion, I'd write an extra special one this chapter… and oh yea… I ended up re-writing the whole chapter last night…. Bleh…

And so, very sorry that this is late… I know I promised Wednesday, but a little bothersome little thing called "real life" got in the way with 2 finals, 2 papers, 1 newsletter, 1 Christmas dinner, and 1 concert to organize all within 1 week… all in addition to a full time job… I almost thought I wouldn't be able to put a chapter out this week, but then… well, it's a little late, but here you go!

Now, onto the episodes… wow on yesterday… I love their separate scene, of Stella with Lindsay, and then Mac with Lindsay & Danny… and of course, their scene together about the FBI! Woohoo :)… but then, is it just me, or does it seem that on shows that feature the local police, they all hate the FBI's, and on shows that feature the FBI, they all hate the locals? I mean… how can the US legal / police system ever work if they all hate each other? I can't understand that…

And yes, this barely touches on My name is Mac Taylor… I'm saving that for the next chapter because, well, it's funner this way and also I can wait to see next week's episodes before I post it, just in case what Stella is hiding from Mac is different from what we all think (maybe she's been pregnant like Lindsay all along?????)

Oh, and btw, here's a little snippet I found on CSI Files: Lenkov (CSI: NY Executive producer) also said _CSI: NY_ will "revisit" the chemistry between fellow detectives Don Flack (Eddie Cahill) and Jessica Angell (Emmanuelle Vaugier), but he wasn't so sure about possible sparks between Stella and lab geek Adam Ross (AJ Buckley). Lenkov said the two "play nice together", but he's "not sure there's a romance there." Let's drink to that!

And one last thing... someone asked me what my plans are for during the holidays... I haven't decided yet, though I'm leaning towards putting this on a hiatus or creating "Holiday Special" instead... not too sure... what you think ?


	11. Les hypothèses: My Name is Mac Taylor

Title: Les hypothèses

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: Not mine. Strictly borrowing them to play. Seriously.

Spoiler: Everything up until 5.08 My Name is Mac Taylor, maybe some of The Box as well…

--

He was sitting in the coffee joint a few shops down from where he and Stella frequented. Deputy Inspector Gillian Whitford's eyes bore into his and he forced himself not to look away. That would be a sign that he was admitting a wrong doing. He refused to do that.

"Is there ground for concern?" she asked after a long silence.

"None," he was adamant. "It's consensual, and strictly personal, outside of the work place."

"Not completely if you both work together," she countered.

"I never said I am one of the people involved," he pointed out, and she shot him a look that said _Really?_ He didn't take the bait though, just simply shrugged.

"And the baby?" she had to ask.

"I can neither confirm nor deny if a baby is involved," he said, and she looked at him quizzically. "I just said that there _may_ be a baby involved."

"You mean you don't know if your girlfriend is pregnant?" she sounded incredulous.

"I never said anything about my involvement in the pregnancy," he cleared up, and looked at her directly. "Deputy Inspector, Gillian, as I said from the beginning, this is a social call, two potential friends going out for coffee."

"An awful lot to ask of a new friend."

He leaned back and looked at the woman in front of him. He hoped he had not misjudged the situation and had placed his whole team's reputation and job on the line for nothing. "I can guarantee you that the integrity of the lab would not be compromised, and the quality of work from the team will not be affected."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"Detective – "

"Look, Gillian, we both know that there is no policy with the NYPD that prohibits its employees from entering into a consensual relationship with one another."

"Not if you throw in the ranks and the fact that one is of a higher rank than the other. Have you considered what will happen when people accuse you of favouritism?"

"I don't do favouritsm," he shot back, indignant. "I hold the integrity of this lab in very high regard, and I would resign before I even think about damaging this lab's credibility."

"Don't you think a supervisor going out with his second-in-command would have negatively impact the lab?"

He paused, but really, he shouldn't be surprised that Gillian Whitford had it all figured out. Yes, that had always been the problem, hadn't it? That it was fine for Danny and Lindsay to get involved, but it would be too damaging to the lab for he and Stella.

Still, the feelings were already there. Whether the deputy inspector agreed or not, the feelings had been in play for a long time. If there were to be damages, it would already be done.

Gillian sighed finally after a long while of contemplation, "Look, Mac. This is strictly off record, but personally, I don't see a problem with it if it's kept out of the lab. However, if this is brought to my attention on a professional level, meaning a lack of professionalism when you are on the job, then I'd have no choice _but_ to take action. You understand that?"

"Thank you," he nodded.

She nodded, accepting his thanks, and stood up, "Thanks for coffee, Mac. I think we are going to develop a very good relationship."

He watched as she exited the shop and merged with the crowd already on the street. Soon, he lost track of her.

It had been a risk going to Gillian Whitford with this. It had been a big risk, but he also felt the need to do so. True, he was riding on the adrenaline of Stella being hurt when reports of the fire at the arrest site came back, but he was also dead serious about this relationship. It wasn't to prove to anyone else, but to himself. Yes, he was ready. There would be no turning back.

When he had gotten word about the fire and the situation at David Oka's arrest, he had felt suspended in the air, his heart rate elevating in each passing thought of how close he was to losing his partner. Yet again. With her tenacity and passion, she could easily have disregarded her own personal safety and rushed to save the one lost soul in front of her.

It had been hard work getting his heart rate back to a normal, acceptable level. He had to keep reminding himself that she was fine. He had just spoken to her on the phone and yes, she was fine. She had seen the whole darn thing went down, had felt helpless about not being able to save the man in front of her, but she wasn't hurt, not physically. Granted, psychologically the damage might have already been done, but physically, she was fine, and that was all that matter.

He was a selfish bastard, he knew, but he would rather the whole world be dead than have the tip of Stella's hair singed.

She would no doubt stick her stiletto heels so deep inside him if she knew his thoughts, but that who said anything about letting her know?

It was unlikely that they would be given a chance to think, a choice to decide who to sacrifice, however. They both shouldered so much duty, so much responsibility. In an idealistic world where everyone lived happily ever after, Mac Taylor would protect Stella Bonasera at all cost. In this harsh real world of murder and deceit, the most he could do was to pray to a God in Whom he no longer believed to keep her safe.

But at this moment, as he walked briskly back to the lab, he knew she wasn't physically harmed. As for the mental scars that would come and the nightmares that were sure to follow, he planned to be by her side. She was alive and breathing, not shot, not burned. Everything else, they could face, together.

If there were a silver lining in all that had happened in the last week and a half, it would no doubt be how these events had made both him and Stella realized how one wrong choice, one wrong decision, could change everything and left behind a lifetime of regret.

His heart still warmed at the thought of her anxiety over his safety. Egoistic as it might be, he felt the sliver of hope in his heart as she barrowed through the crowd of people right outside the changing room on the other side of the pool. If her glares could kill, all those people who were in her way would have been on the way to a long and intimate visit with Sid.

He knew she was upset by what had happened. Her waiting outside his apartment in the dead of night when she encountered the first Mac Taylor was testament to her anxiousness. But then, that had been private, and she had been reluctant to let others, even him, know how upset she was.

This time, however, her emotions were open for all to see. Hawkes had said that she had flew out of the lab and raced to her car as soon as the call got in about the Mac Taylor who died falling off the balcony. There had been no stopping the woman behind the wheels as they navigated the crowded streets of New York. For moments there, Hawkes said, he was afraid for his life riding in the car with Stella Bonasera.

"Seriously, Mac," he had said once they were back at the lab, "with the way she was driving, it's a miracle I am not en route back to the morgue."

He could see her fierceness when she entered the pool where he stood waiting by the side. She had marched around the lingering crew then, barking orders and setting all the others to work. Indeed, it was clear that for every ounce of his need to keep Stella Bonasera safe, there was a matching force within her to guard him.

They were a pair, a bond thicker than blood and tested by fire: it was a partnership that could never be broken and one bond that could not be severed.

The past weeks of fighting and disconnection between them had clued him in on the fact that he had forgotten how to function without Stella anchoring him. It was as if his brain was detached from the rest of his body; he could spew out facts and answers to the lab techs and CSIs around him, but he couldn't think nor feel. It was the dreaded, familiar, and long-forgotten numbness that had accompanied him for years after the Towers fell.

He knew they were both emotionally invested in this case; the emotional attachment was formed just as soon as they realized the serial killer was targeting someone named Mac Taylor. They were invested and taking it very personally, as they were prone to be when one of them was in danger. The harsh line between emotions and science, of professional and person, blurred.

And from this blurred line came the empathy, came his understanding of David Oka's despair, of his urge to kill, to avenge. It brought on the reminder that they ought to appreciate what they had, to appreciate the one person who meant everything to them.

And that was where he found himself at the moment, standing outside the trace lab, looking out and seeing the woman of his dreams joking and laughing with Adam Ross.

The lab tech had a crush the size of the moon on his partner. The whole lab but his partner probably knew about this already.

It was almost comical to see the lab tech bent over backward to try and get a smile out of her. Almost, because he had long equated the task of getting Stella Bonasera to smile with his destined duty, not to be shared with anyone.

He stepped into the lab, still unbeknownst to the two friends staring at the screen, and cleared his throat loudly.

Stella swirled around immediately, and the alertness in her eyes softened when she saw him, "Hey, thought we'll see each other tomorrow?"

"We need to make the most of the moments, right?" he smiled when the corner of her mouth slowly lift up, "So you ready to go?"

"Yea," she stood, turned to give Adam smiled at Adam, "Good night."

"Uh-Night," the lab tech stuttered, and clamped his mouth shut soon as his eyes met Mac's.

_If I catch you doing that again in the future – _

_Yes sir. Got it._

"Mac?" her voice drew him from the silent conversation and he turned, "Are we leaving?"

"Yes," he caught up to her, placing his hand at the small of her back to guide her out the door. "Let's go."

She smiled at him, bringing the long dormant sunshine back into his world again, "So, Mac, where are we going?"

"How about coffee?"

--

Okay, so here it is… woohoo… I'm playing with my new netbook, which helped writing fics much easier when I'm on hour-long bus rides to work! Yay to Acer :).

So, here it is… I hope I've offered a plausible and believable reason for Mac's rendez-vous with Gillian Whitford? It just struck me that… maybe… just maybe… Mac wasn't at all interested in Gillian Whitford? (okay, let's just pretended he didn't say that yucky, oh, she turned around, nice line at the end, k?)

I know I didn't have much of Stella in this, but I don't think I should drag it out more. I mean, this is really about the mental shift in Mac… really, and I hope I've delivered that point clearly throughout… and coffee!

Autumngold: thanks for the continuous review… I know I haven't thanked you enough since I can't pm you to reply to your reviews, but I really do appreciate them!

And Lily? It seems like I CAN'T take away that hand thing… am I obsessed? Should I go see a psychologist? Or even a psychiatrist? I mean… throughout the whole thing there was no mention of the hand, and then at the end, this thought was just stuck in my head going… you need to put it in, you need to put it in… ahhh…

Now, onward with this episode… oh wow… now we FINALLY know what Stella was keeping from Mac, and I have to somehow thank the writer for going with MY little world of Mac / Stella here… haha, did you all see Stella's expression when they fought? That was like… Oh Mac Taylor, I will stick my stiletto heel so far up your a** to the place where the sun won't shine! LOL… it's intense, but I'm worried what it'd do to the two of them… Stella might have taken it a little too far, no? I don't know… I love Stella, and this will be another hurdle where I need to figure out what to do… another fight is on coming!! But I'll leave that til later…

So, holiday plans… I asked about it last week… and I'll say… I'll likely put this on hiatus after next week's chapter that will deal with Lindsay's pregnancy… then it'll be done and will be back when the first ep. of NY comes back in 2009… I was thinking of writing another holiday fics for Mac / Stella, but oh well… not too sure who'll be interested (lol, yes I am outrightly black-mailing you guys!)… anyway, we'll see… as I was saying to someone, I really wanna explore a wedding with Mac… haha…

Anyway, gotta stop.. some of you need to stop me! It's one whole page of babbling!! This is not healthy, Man…

Until then!

KiKi


	12. Je te promets: The Box

Title: Je te promets

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: Not mine. Strictly borrowing them to play. Seriously.

Spoiler: Everything up to 5.09 The Box, but if you squint hard enough, you'd find something that may qualify as spoiler for everything up to 5.12 Berried Alive! I'm laying down some ground work for the future chapters, you know?

--

When he got home from running, it was already 2 in the morning. The exercise felt good. It helped clear his head and hopefully will help him get some sleep.

His insomnia had already markedly improved. He was sleeping better, eating better, and had started smiling and joking with his team again. All in all, things felt much better.

Still, the nightmares plagued his sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, and all he could see were the images of the victims and the dead asking why he didn't prevent their death; it would always end with _her_, lying in a pool of blood as life drained out of her cooling body. This was likely what Stella meant as his hero-complex, but he couldn't help it. These shadows were both haunted him and motivated him.

Tonight, the run had helped him relax, and maybe he could get some shut-eye tonight after a shower. It was his day-off the next day, but with the recent crime spree – and more and more weird and complicated crime – he found his day-offs meant little. Not that he didn't trust Stella to guide the team, but he wanted to be ready whenever his team needed his help.

The voice mail light was blinking as he entered into his apartment, which was unusual. Someone had called since he took off an hour ago.

"Hey," her voice filled the room, and drew his attention to the small black box on his counter top. He looked to check the cell phone in his pocket and saw that it was on, and wondered why she hadn't called him there. "I guess you're otherwise occupied then. It's – uh, it's nothing, really, so, I guess I'll talk to you later. Bye."

He stared at the machine. She called in the middle of the night for no reason at all? Somehow, he found it hard to believe.

Glancing at the clock, noting that it had only been 30 minutes since she left the message, he decided to call her back.

"Hey, you're back," she answered on the second ring. "Where did you go?"

"Couldn't sleep," he replied, noting her forced jovial tone and feeling the tug in his heart. "So I was out running."

"You really ought to find something more productive to do when you can't sleep at night, Mac."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Grocery shopping, maybe? Anything."

He wanted to indulge her in carrying on with this conversation, but he knew that was not the reason she called. She needed to talk; she was reaching out to him for a reason.

"So what about you? Why aren't you sleeping?"

She didn't respond immediately, and he waited. He could hear her breathing, and knew that she was still with him. It was a choice between waiting and prompting.

"Stell?"

"I was just… I didn't…" she let out a sigh. "I don't know, Mac. I can't seem to shut my brain down enough to rest."

"Are you okay?"

"Yea, I'm – " she said, then, much more quietly, "I don't think I am."

"Stay put. I'll be right over," he instructed, and carried on before she could stop him, "We'll talk once I get there, alright?"

"You don't have to do that, Mac. It's late. You need some sleep."

"I want to, Stella. I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

He waited while she mulled over the idea. He wasn't sure what he would do if Stella insisted on being alone, but he hoped she wouldn't choose to shut him out now.

"I'll see you in 20?" she relented.

"Make it 40. I want to grab a quick shower and get changed first."

"A 20 minute shower?" She laughed, "Don't rush your pampering then."

"I'll see you in 40," he stated, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice before hanging up and shaking his head in amusement.

He did take a shower, but it didn't take 20 minutes. On his way to her apartment, he stopped by the small Asian grocery halfway between their apartments. He knew Stella Bonasera, and he was fairly certain that if she couldn't sleep, she probably hadn't taken the time to eat properly. She would need food.

He made it to her apartment within a half-hour. She opened her door before he could knock.

"Hey," she greeted him with a smile, looking down to the bags he was carrying with him, "I didn't know you can get groceries in your shower."

"You gonna help me carry all these to the kitchen or not?"

She reached out and took some of the bags from him and led him to her kitchen, "You could have called and see what I have before buying all these. I do have eggs and bread in the apartment, you know?"

"And ruin my surprise?" he deadpanned.

"So what are you planning on making, or is that a surprise too?"

"Well, I was thinking some French toasts, but seeing how you are not happy with my arrangements, maybe I can – "

"Don't you dare dangle your French toast in front of me and expect me to let it go easily, Mac Taylor," she challenged him, waggling a finger at him. "One day, I'll wrestle that recipe out from you. One day."

"It stays in the family, Stella, you know that," he shook his head at her, and started to shoo her out of her kitchen. "Go wait in the living room or something."

"You do realize that this is my kitchen, right, Mac?"

"Doesn't matter. Go amuse yourself with something in the living room. I'll call you when it's ready."

She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, and he took the challenge head on, with a raised eye brow at her defiance.

"Fine, fine. I'm going," she surrendered laughingly. "I'll be in the living room. Don't burn down my kitchen!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he agreed and watched as she settled herself on the couch to begin channel surfing in earnest.

He measured the ingredients from memory, adding more of the apple cinnamon spice that he knew she adored, and put it in the oven to wait for it to cook. He had made this for her several times before, and it never failed to cheer her up. Each time, she would demand the recipe, and he would retort that it was for family only.

Maybe one day, he would give her that recipe. When they were both ready.

When the oven dinged and the toasts were finally ready, he dished them out onto her large serving dish with carefully portioned syrup.

And he let out a chuckle when he entered into the living room.

With her head thrown back and her wild curls spread across the back of the couch, Stella Bonasera was fast asleep. The TV remote was still grasped loosely in her hand from her channel surfing, but her slumped form showed that she hadn't been actively watching for a while now.

Setting the dish on the coffee table in front of her, he debated what he should do. She clearly needed sleep, and he hated to have to wake her, but she would no doubt be more comfortable in bed.

"You aren't thinking of hogging all the toasts, are you?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep. He looked over at her and noted that she hadn't opened her eyes just yet.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Just resting my eyes," she claimed and moved to sit up and stretch. "I'm waiting."

"I know you are," he acquiesced, and moved towards the coffee table once again. "So, your majesty, here are your French toasts."

She smiled at his mocking, and sat up straighter to glee in delight, "For this alone, I'll forgive you making fun of me."

He watched as she dug in and placed one piece in her mouth with her fingers. He, on the other hand, maneuvered his with the fork and knife he brought from the kitchen.

"Oh, come on, Mac. It's French toast."

"That doesn't mean we get to be pigs," he countered.

It felt good seeing her laugh again. It had been so long since they had shared a quiet moment together. He couldn't remember the last time they spent the evening together being so relaxed. He didn't think they had ever let their respective guards down so much.

They ate in silence, the pile of toasts quickly depleting between them. He was glad she was eating and motioned for her to take the last piece.

"You sure?"

"Yea. They're for you anyway."

She smiled in appreciation, and reflexively, he smiled in return.

Maybe that was what Heavens would feel like. The simple feel of domesticity, of home, with the one person who defined his existence.

He waited until she cleared the coffee table and helped her wash the dishes. Settling back on the couch with water (no coffee, because they did hope to get some sleep even though it was approaching sun rise), they sat shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Stell," he started, suddenly uncertain of how he should start this conversation. "I – "

"I have been thinking about the Harris's," she supplied, and he looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected her to willingly share what had been bothering her. "I can't understand, Mac. How can Nicole Harris just leave like that? How can her parents just turn her away because she didn't do as they had hoped for her? Why didn't they work to mend things? They're a family."

Mac remained silent. There was no plausible, acceptable explanation that he could offer.

She paused for a minute, playing with the water glass in her hand before looking up to look at him, "They don't know how lucky they are to have family around, to have someone to share things with and someone to worry about you when things are going wrong. They could have it all, but they chose to be alone and miserable."

He watched her face then, and realization dawned in him. They had both been wrapped up in finding the killer, in bemoaning the tragedy that had struck the young girl and the baby, that he had neglected to make sure she was fine emotionally. She was always so strong, so unbeatable that he sometimes – most of the times – forgot how fragile she was emotionally when it came to certain issues.

Abandonment being one of the major one, for obvious reasons.

There was no words he could offer that would sooth the pain or heal the scar left all those years ago by her parents and foster parents and prospective adopting couples, but there was one thing he could offer her now.

"You are not alone now," he commented softly, and waited until she turned to look at him. "You have the whole lab. You're family. The team will be there for you. _I_ will be there."

"Mac – "

"It's a promise, Stella. I am not in the habit of breaking promises," he reached out to take her water glass from her grasp to place it on the table. Gently, he grabbed her hand in his and squeezed, relishing in the feeling of his hand warming up hers. "Trust me."

She looked back at him, her hazel greens boring deep into his eyes, and he worked to let his guard down, and for her to see all the emotions he had yet found words to express.

Finally, she smiled. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she brought their hand closer to her heart and gave him a genuine smile.

--

Well, my dears, how do you like this fluff? I don't think I've written anything with so much fluff in it for a little while. I'm sure it can be piled together into a fluff pile and we can make a fluff-man, a fluff-woman, and a whole fluff-family with all these fluff! (sorry, I'm staring out at the snow here in Vancouver and laughing my head off with how the city's almost dead because of it!)

But yes, that was… certainly more uplifting than what I've been dishing out on you guys, haven't it? Well, seeing that it's Christmas, I do think this is rather appropriate, don't you? Haha, oh well, that's it for this story until we get our first first-run of 2009 in January… though from the SPOILERS!!

There is nothing much mentioned about Stella's little stint and other Mac/Stella fight… though there is a mention of someone tying the knot *coughdlcough*

End Spoiler…

btw, I was watching Charge of this Post last night on re-run, and... lol... I found out I actually got the coffee right! Black, 2 sugars! Woohoo! :O

So yea… we'll see :)… But on the other hand, I am actually going to post a Christmas story in the duration… something I rarely do…. Because it's not based on an episode… if you look at my story list, it's almost guaranteed to be connected to an episode, because that's how I see the way characters develop – based on episodes! But for Christmas, I'm willing to make an exception :). So, it'll be on tomorrow...

I guess that's all for now… have a great day everyone and have a wonderful Christmas, and if I don't see you over at the other story, have a wonderful Christmas and a great start of 2009!

Until then.

xoxo  
Ki


	13. La Joie: The Triangle

Title: La Joie

Author: KiKi

Disclaimers: They are not mine. I'm just borrowing the characters out to play and will return them. Promise!

Spoiler: 5.10 Triangle

--

Lately, with everything that was happening, she found that she hadn't had the chance to really just observe her partner in action anymore. She loved watching him, how he moved, how he carried himself. Like now.

There was a reason why Mac Taylor was such a good leader, why his team would willingly stand by him, stand behind him, defend him, give him their best. He was a great leader. He knew the work, the science, the stress, the need to feel for the victims as well as the importance of sticking to the evidence.

He understood, and he empathized.

She smiled as he drew the two younger CSI's into a hug. Who cared about politics and bureaucratic repercussions at this point when they should all be sharing the joy of life?

Not that that would be the only thing Mac had to worry about in the mean time.

The feds. It had always been a mystery to her why feds and city cops couldn't work well together. They had all vowed to protect the city, the state, the country, the people living here and making up this great land. Why couldn't everyone just work well together and play nice?

But then she was probably being hypocritical. She herself didn't like it when others step on her toes. Turf wars were never fun. It was even less fun when one had to investigate another.

At least they could show some professional respect, no? From what Mac had told her, that whole "interrogation" (and she used that term loosely) inside the SUV smelled fishy. Why not a proper "invitation" to talk at the office?

"Yo, Stella!" Danny's voice from down the hall snapped her out of her musing.

She looked up to see the three of them looking at her from Mac's glass-encased office. With one brow raised, she walked towards them and joined the group – the little family they had formed around Mac.

"Hey," she said once she was inside. "What's up?"

Mac looked at Lindsay with an amused expression, and the young woman took the cue from her boss, "Well, Stella, you see, I – "

She was stammering. The younger detective was playing with her fingers and looking around. Danny, too, behind Lindsay, was looking equally nervous.

She laughed, already having an idea as to the reason behind their little gathering, "I take it that your friend from Jersey actually lives in New York?"

Danny and Mac looked puzzle at her words, but Lindsay had a sheepish grin on her face, "Yea."

"Well, come here, kiddo," she pulled the young woman in for a hug. A big one. And with an arm extended, she ruffled Danny's hair. "Congratulations, you two."

Lindsay gave her a tight squeeze before stepping back beside Danny.

They both looked happy, and Stella knew they would be good parents. Sure, they would fight, they would have their differences, they would make mistakes, but she also had confidence in the young couple that they would stick together and be there for their child through thick and thin.

That alone would make them great parents.

"Well, I think we're just going to head out now," Danny said from beside Lindsay. "I'll see you two tomorrow?"

"Yea," Stella nodded, then looking at Lindsay, "Be sure you come see me before shift tomorrow. I have found some material on safety procedures for you."

The younger woman's eyes went wide at Stella's words, and the senior CSI smiled with satisfaction.

"Thanks, Stella," Lindsay gave her hand a tight squeeze before getting out the door with Danny by her side.

Stella was still looking at the two retreating parents-to-be when her partner walked to stand beside her, "You knew about this."

She turned to look at him, amused, "So did you."

"I had a suspicion," he clarified. "All the paleness at the scene, the queasy stomach, how she seems to be protecting her mid-section a little more than usual."

"Well, you were so certain that you went to Whitford about it," Stella said, her eyes twinkling. "I only figured after Lindsay came to me concerned about this friend of hers who works at the Jersey lab that's pregnant. Not hard to figure out what she's really asking, you know?"

The top CSI gave a chuckle to Stella's comments. Indeed, Lindsay wasn't really that good at lying, "Well, Sinclair won't be happy."

"When is that Grinch ever happy with anything we do?"

Mac shot her a glance, but she shrugged, "I'm just saying."

Her partner's expression shifted gradually. It was akin to watching him age before her. The lines on his forehead became deeper, and she could feel the tension coming from him.

"Mac?" she had to ask. Her hand went out to touch his arm gently, drawing his attention to her.

He sighed, a big, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world to Stella, "You know, I think I can only bend the rules so many times. Sinclair's going to blow a fuse when he hears about Danny and Lindsay, and he's always ready to pick a war with me. With Danny and Lindsay having a kid coming, it'll just – it's bigger than just us now, you know? I have to make sure they are both fine, and I just can't help but wonder if we should just – "

"Oh, don't you dare be suggesting what I think you're going to suggest, Mac Taylor, because that is the stupidest idea," she stopped him; she had to. Otherwise, her heart might very well be breaking into pieces. Not again. Not the doubts and uncertainty again.

"I'm sorry, it's just – " he waved his hand, letting the enormity of what was on his shoulder spoke for itself.

She nodded, her hand on his arm squeezed gently. The man was torn, between the bureaucratic crap that Sinclair had been dumping on him and the work put into keeping Lindsay and Danny's job, between the frustration and indignation from the FBI's suspicion of his character and the effort into keeping their own relationship under wraps.

They were both quiet, letting the silence calm their nerves.

"It's going to be hard," he stated eventually, softly, raising his head to look into her eyes.

"I know."

"It will probably get ugly with Sinclair."

"That's almost a fact."

"People will talk."

"They always do anyway."

"We may lose our job over this."

"But we may not."

He didn't say anymore after that, just moving his hand to take hers in his, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand lightly.

"I know you know all of that, but I just need to make sure we're on the same page, wanting the same thing."

"You know I am, Mac. You know that."

Her partner gave her a tentative smile, "You just have an answer to everything, don't you?"

She grinned, "Of course I do, and your concerns tell me how much you care. I love you for that."

Soon as the words were out of her mouth, she froze. Her hands went to her mouth, as if trying to stop the involuntary gasp that she had let out anyway. It was the one moment when her brain hadn't censored her words and she let slip the one thought that she wasn't at all ready to let him know.

Mac Taylor was not a man who responded well to pressure. She hadn't meant to say it. She didn't know if Mac felt anything close to what she felt, but she knew she hadn't meant to blurt it out like this, and most of all not in his office where their every move could be observed by everyone in the lab.

"Stella?" His hand went to her arm this time, and squeezed gently. "You meant it, right?"

Biting her lip, she nodded, her eyes darting everywhere in the room but landing on him. No, she wasn't going to lie to him now, not about how she felt, not about how deeply she was invested. There was no point in hiding.

That didn't mean she was ready to face the consequences just yet.

"Have I really given you that much reason to doubt?" he asked, more like a rhetorical question.

Curious, she finally brought herself to look at him, and was surprised at the gentle, almost teasing smile on his lips when he continued looking at her, "Mac?"

"Stella, I am ready, and from what you told me earlier, you are ready. _We_ are ready."

There were long seconds of disbelief as anxiety seeped away from her body and she felt the fluttering and anticipation filled her anew.

"You sure you are ready," she wanted to be certain.

"Just as you are," he confirmed. "Just as you feel."

Somehow, she believed him. Maybe it was his words, maybe it was the conviction in his words, maybe it was the emotions she saw in his eyes, but she believed him, and she knew he wasn't going to run just because she said something he wasn't prepared to respond to.

"And Stella?" he called gently, and waited until her eyes were on him again. "When we get out of here, there is something that you need to hear from me."

She didn't want to get her hopes up. Really, she didn't. She had never had the best track record with men, but then, this was Mac Taylor, and he would never deliberately hurt her, physically or emotionally.

He just wasn't that kind of a person.

flung her hands around him and drew him into a hug, "I really hate your office, you know?"

He chuckled while patting her back, "And why is that?"

"Because I would kiss you right now, but I can't," she murmured, letting herself rest her head on his broad shoulder before pulling back. "Damn the one who decided to use glass walls for offices."

He laughed, actually laugh. And she couldn't help herself but joined in.

No, they didn't have the kiss in his office, and she was okay with that. She was fine with it, because they now shared something deeper and more meaningful than a simple kiss.

And there was always the next time.

--

A/N: okay, people, here it is again, FINALLY! I know it's later than usual, and I'll let you know why: I had to rewrite most of it because of last night's episode… Darn them… can't we have a little continuity in the characters on the show? I mean, just last epi, we had Mac & Stella fighting like cats and dogs, and last time, they back to chummy chummy pals who finished each other's sentences? I mean, COME ON! I know they are good friends and I don't like it when they fight, but can we PLEASE have a little realism? You think Stella can just act normal around Mac after her stint with Angell? Really? No ill feeling, NOTHING? *Groan*…

So yea, after last night's epi, half of this chapter and my whole next chapter just went down the drain, and boy, am I not glad that I hadn't posted this before this episode was aired… you guys would probably be happy because this is actually fluff and not angst… lol, but really, I'm a little bit annoyed with the writers right now… a little continuity and tension between mac & stella won't hurt, people?

But so, yea… I hope you like it… this is a little less thought-out than the others that I wrote because, quite frankly, I just came up with it after 11 last night and had to re-do my whole schematic! Hopefully the characterization wasn't way off…

Okay, anyway, welcome back, all dears… hope you like this chapter and that you will like it enough to leave me a line… but I've made a promise… no more begging for reviews… coz… well, yea, if you wanna leave something, do so, and if you don't… well.. then… *shrug*…

Until next time.


	14. Le coût des affaires: Forbidden Fruits

Title: Le coût des affaires

Author: Dragonfly's Girl aka Ki Ki

Disclaimers: not mine. Never mine. Just borrowing them to play. Will return them soon as they are done acting out my fantasies! *pinky swear*

Added Disclaimer on Rating: eh, if you are a real kiddie (like, below 16, maybe?), you _really_ shouldn't be reading this. This story _is_ rated a T, so please do respect that.

More notes in the bottom.

--

She could sense him. She didn't need to turn around. The hair on the back of her neck took care of that for her.

She could sense him and she had to fight with herself to not turn around and greet him. A lot of things had happened in the past two days. Things that left her feeling raw and vulnerable. Things that made her want to bolt instead of smile at the sight of him.

God, had it only been two days since they last had a civil conversation?

Because it felt like a life time ago when they were doing the shy tango around one another, and even further before when she clumsily let slip a small declaration of love.

They had shared many a moments with one another since then. The anticipation building, the expectation, the knowledge that _something_ would happen soon, and then they would pass the no-return point.

Not that she could turn back to before now that she knew what it was like to be with him.

Still, in the time, they danced around one another. They danced around, but nothing had happened.

Then, in the past two days, everything had changed. They hadn't talked. They hadn't checked up on one another. Both had been busy, pre-occupied. She with her investigation, and Mac with Ella McBride.

Yes, she knew about Ella McBride. Almost the whole NYPD knew, especially after he made sure he spent a few hours each day with her in her room. Mac Taylor needed to learn that he couldn't save the whole world. People made their own choices and there were just those few people that were beyond saving.

Like he couldn't save her from her determination and almost obsession to put Diakos behind bars.

Of course, she would admit it freely that it was an obsession. It was personal; it had become personal since the moment Diakos had decided to use her as a human punching bag. She refused to stand by while he continued to terrorize whoever was unfortunate enough to be in possession of the Greek coins.

She knew the risks going in; she knew the danger and the likely possibility that she might not live to tell what had happened if Diakos chose to strike back at her. But the dead rat and taunting phone calls had just fuelled her need to show the sorry excuse of a man it was a very bad idea to mess with Stella Bonasera.

She also knew that dragging Angell into this was a bad idea. It was bad enough that she had put herself at risk. Now she had involved a good friend. Were they to fail in their attempt, it would mean danger and seriously bad things.

The only option, then, would be not to fail. Simple as that.

Stella Bonasera was not one to fail.

But at what cost though? She had already alienated the one person whose trust, whose support, whose friendship she valued the most. She hated lying to the man. Their relationship was based so much upon their ability to trust one another with their lives that she hastened to imagine how Mac would react when he found out about her plans.

Her throat burned as she threw a shot of vodka down. She played with the ice still in her glass.

He sighed.

"What are you doing here?" she finally muttered her courage to speak, and she winced at the bite in her question. But then, she needed to say something to break the awkward silence between them. Something, anything.

Because they weren't meant to not communicate with one another when they were in such close proximity. She refused to give up that one tiny bit of normalcy between them.

"Stella – " he sighed, and she could just see his frown, the burrowing of his brows. She could just see it. She knew him that well.

"What, Mac?" she was irritated, unsettled, really, because now, she didn't know how she should react to him being so close to her after everything that had happened. "What are you doing here? You feel the need to check up on me? To protect me? To make sure I don't do anything stupid and jeopardize the lab's reputation?"

"That's not why I am here and you know that," his voice was tight.

Oh, she knew. She knew. But she needed to lash out. She needed to let it all out because it consumed her, before the guilt rendered her useless and defenseless against Diakos' slaughter. Before she was consumed by the guilt of going behind his back and getting Angell involved. Before she felt the need to tell him everything. No, she wouldn't' do that.

She needed to feel alive and right now, fighting with him was the best she could offer.

"Really? So, as my boss, you're not here to see that I behave?" she challenged him.

And he took the bait, "Damn it, Stella, you know I am here as anything but your boss."

"Really? How can I know, Mac. How? Never, not once, have you ever pulled rank on me. Never. I thought you trusted me, Mac. I thought you would trust me to do the right thing and get job done. I _never_ thought you would pull rank on me just because you didn't believe in what I was doing."

"But you weren't paying attention to all the implications of your action. You weren't even paying attention to how you are just risking your whole damn career because of him."

"What's the alternative, Mac? Huh? Let him walk? Let him continue terrorizing people? You _know_ this will get shoved to the bottom of the pile at Major Case, you _know_ that."

"But there are policies you have to follow. As a cop, Stella, you should know that. You shouldn't need me to tell you that you can't just go off and play judge and jury and determine that he is guilty and he needs to be caught by whatever means possible. You can't, because that's not what the lab stands for, that's not what the NYPD stands for. And that's not what _you_ stand for."

That hurt. It hurt, because part of her knew that it was true, that she was walking between the fine line of right and wrong and was tipping towards the dark side every step she took. She was putting her life on the line, her job on the line, all she had dreamed for on the line, because she couldn't let one person get away.

But the choice was already made. She was in too deep. Angell had already showed her hand. She couldn't back out now. No, it was no longer a choice.

The only option left was to move ahead and win this war. Because otherwise, it would be the unbearable.

"You know what? I'm not interested in re-hashing this argument," she proclaimed. Throwing down more than enough money to cover her tap, she shrugged into her coat and slipped out of Mac's reach.

She needed to get out of there. She needed to be alone, because otherwise, she would more surely compromise everything.

Plus, he needed plausible deniability when it all went down. She was risking everything she had worked for. She wouldn't let him do the same for her.

"Wait, Stella," he chased after her. No, she didn't want him to chase her. She needed to get away. She quickened her steps. "Don't run away from this, Stella."

She moved quicker, but the tears that were threatening to roll down her cheeks were blurring her vision and her heels were making walking on ice difficult. She quickened her steps still.

She thought she was getting away. She thought she had made it.

Until she arrived at her apartment to find him already waiting by the door.

How did he get here before she did?

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked again, hating that he was seeing her almost tears and the crack in her armour.

"I want you to tell me what the hell is going on here," he asked, his eyes intense, his voice tight. She thought his veins threatening to burst.

"I have nothing to tell you. Now you let go of me because I am done talking," she got in his personal space, daring him to move, daring him to contradict her.

"Don't run away from this, Stella. Don't."

"You don't have to worry about me misbehaving tonight, Mac," she retorted, and turning away to push him away.

Only he held onto her wrist. He was holding on, his grips tighter than normal. He spun her around, and like practised dance partners, she turned right into his arms.

They were right outside her apartment, and he was holding her to him so tight that she could feel the heat from his body.

His heat contrasted with the chill she felt from deep within her.

She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips were already on hers, taking in her protest and silencing her pleas to let her go. The kiss went on. He wasn't trying to conquer her, no. She knew, because she could feel the care he took to reign in his emotions and anger. She knew, because his tongues touched her lips but never demanded entry. She knew, because his hands were holding her tight to him, but never burning into her flesh.

And in that moment, her armour fell apart completely. All the façade of strength, all the protection she erected to protect herself gone. She flung her arms around his neck and hung on for the ride.

"Stell," he breathed her name when he pulled back slightly to take a breath.

"Inside," she murmured, and he nodded. He spun her around again, pinning her between her door and himself. He took the key from her hand and opened the door as if he had done it a million times.

They tumbled inside. He kicked the door shut. His mouth seared onto hers once again.

"Bedroom," she commanded breathlessly, and they moved forward blindly, moving as one, feet tangling with one another, clothes leaving a trail.

It was fast; it was intense; it was passionate.

It was nothing like she had imagined. Their first time. And there was no slow, carelessly placed kisses, no exploration, no tenderness.

There was aggression, there was the need to feel, there was the desire to know the other was there and that they were still together, some way, somehow.

His hand now lay rested on her bare stomach. He had shifted after they were both spent and exhausted to face her, and how, with his hand on her stomach, his eyes had closed and he had fallen into a deep slumber. Perspiration still glistened on his forehead.

She felt sated, sure, that finally, they had made the one step that had been on the back of their mind since her fumbling declaration a week ago. Still, at the same time, she wanted to cry.

It was nothing like what she had imagined. Nothing at all.

And that was the price for her determination and obsession.

--

Haha, shocked, anyone? That I'm putting up two things in less than 24 hours?

Writing is indeed a funny thing. I was stuck on this chapter for the longest time because I was trying to fit in with the chumminess of Mac & Stell in Help and tie it in with Forbidden Fruits. It wasn't easy. Man, I was stuck on what will happen, what should happen, for the longest time! But then, after I posted the Snapshot, it all came together, and so, here you go, take this as an early Chinese New Year present if you will, because it's likely not going to happen again (with me posting 2 things on the same day!). This is literally hot off the press because this chapter started from conception to end in 9 hours.

And yes, I have never written a scene that intense before, I think. I have always skirted around the "closed bedroom door" scene with characters, but I somehow feel that I _need_ to put this one in, because of the way Stella _should_ be feeling now that she has gone behind Mac's back. I mean, come _on_, writers on CSI:NY? So she has no guilt, no regret, no second-guessing, none-what-so-ever with going against Mac's direct order? I can't buy that. I can't buy that, and so here is my interpretation, because I think Stella has an idea of how badly this will blow up in her face and how Mac will be hurt when he finds out. She won't be that heartless!

I hope this meet some of you guys' requirement… as I said, I this is my first exploration of the "behind bedroom door" scene and I'm really a novice at those… not that there are much graphics for you to read… it's all about the concept, I think. I doubt I'll ever go further than that though.

So, hope you like this, hope you can see where I'm going with this and that you'll stay tune.

And I know I haven't been thanking the reviewers for a few chapters now, especially those who didn't sign in for their reviews. Know that they are appreciated. Much thanks!

Until next time.


	15. Il sera mieux: Forbidden Fruits

Title: Il sera mieux

Author: Dragonfly's Girl aka Ki Ki

Spoiler: 5.11 Forbidden Fruits still

Disclaimers: They're not mine, just borrowing them to play!

* * *

The room was still dark. He woke to an eerie silence in the room.

His mind a little hazy. Jumbled images filled his head, and he wondered briefly if they were fantasies or memories.

The smell reminded him of her, the soft, feminine smell of apple and berries. The smell told him that what he saw were not fantasies.

That left memories.

He could still feel her skin on his finger tips, hear her whispers of love, remember how she trembled with him. He could recall the whisper of pain when her finger nails dug into his back, the burning of her finger holding onto him, the feeling of her surrounding him.

These weren't fantasies of his. These were memories. It really happened.

His hand felt the coldness of the sheets beside him. He frowned.

The clock on the side of the bed read 3:42am. His frown deepened.

He was no doubt in her apartment. He remembered holding onto one another before they fell asleep.

Before _he_ fell asleep.

When was the last time he felt secured enough to fall asleep before his partner? It was a hazard of being first a Marine, then a detective. Both occupations didn't exactly led him to be lax with his own safety. He was guarded, always, with family, with friends.

Even with the woman who shared his life.

But Stella was different. He trusted her. Trusted her enough to fall asleep in her home, in her bed, with her by his side.

He had trusted her.

And now that trust was broken.

He couldn't fathom why she would go about the investigation like that. He wanted say he couldn't understand her obsession with Diakos, but the truth was, he did. He understood, because he felt the same towards the taxi cab killer. He felt the same toward Dobbs.

There were just some criminals that just got under their skin.

Still, he expected more of her. He expected her to be by the book and be responsible. He expected her to be his anchor when he was losing himself in an investigation.

He expected her to be safe.

It was rare for Stella to venture so much out of what was right and what was expected of her as she had done. It wasn't like her at all, and that's what scared him.

He expected her to be safe. He _needed_ her to be safe.

Finally peeling back the cover to sit up, he noted his clothes from the night before were folded neatly by the bed. The spare sweater and lounge pants he kept at her apartment were laid out beside them. He hastily got dressed before he went in search of his partner.

He found her in the living room, by the big window that overlooked the municipal park across the street and the stars in the sky.

She didn't turn when he walked towards her, but he knew she was aware of him. He could read her, almost as well as she could read him.

"Stell," he whispered, her name spilling out of his lips almost reverently.

She dipped her head before turning back to look at him.

"How you doing?" he had to ask as he approached her. This was unchartered territory.

Because what should he say to his best friend, his destiny in life, after the night they spent, in the circumstances that had prompted it?

"I'm good," she answered, her voice scratchy. "You?"

He nodded, unsure of where he stood at the moment, "I'm good."

"That's good, then," she nodded. "Good."

He was sick and tired of that word. When were they reduced to this falseness when they talked?

"You know what? No, everything is not good. I am not good," her eyes widened at his tone, the aggravation that was clear in his voice. "I'm not good, and you sure as hell don't look like you're good either."

"What do you know about what I'm feeling?" she challenged, her eyes fiery. "What makes you the expert in knowing what I feel?"

She stood up to face him, and the wince didn't escape him. It tugged right at his heart, deflating him.

"Oh God, I hurt you, didn't I?" he mumbled, his earlier irritation all but replaced by worry and guilt. "Stella?"

"Just a little sore," she answered. "Nothing that won't be better in a day."

He still was skeptical, and it must have shown, because she reached out a tentative hand to him, "I'm fine, really. It' just – been a while."

He couldn't help but gave a small half smile before letting out a sigh, "Stell, we need to talk."

She didn't say anything, but the changes in her expression told him what she was thinking. She was fortifying herself, insulating herself from any pain she was expecting.

She was expecting the worst. She was expecting his rejection, the one thing that had plagued her her whole life.

"Stella, it's not – " he struggled to find the right words still, knowing full well the delicate balance it would require to calm her down and draw her back to him.

"It's not going to work?" she queried, trying to finish off the sentence for him.

His head snapped up to watch her, though he had expected her defence mechanism to be in place by now, hearing her words still shocked him to the core.

Was their relationship really not working? Was the night before really just his expression of anger that led to way more than it should?

_No_.

No, their relationship wasn't beyond salvage. Granted, they were having a rough patch, but he had tasted what life without Stella Bonasera was like, and he would commit ever fibre of his being to make this relationship work.

And no, what they had shared in her bedroom was more than a consequence of his anger. It might had started off with his frustration, but the moment he was within her, he was drawn to her. No, it wasn't anger. It was the intensity of their emotions, it was in her eyes, on her lips, under her finger tips. It was everything that was Stella Bonasera that drew him in and made him want to be with her and reaffirm their connection.

A flash of movement at the corner of his eyes drew him back to the present, and belatedly, he realized his contemplation had seemingly affirmed Stella's uncertainty about where they stood.

"No, that's not what I want to say," he reassured her, hoping to erase the expression of heart-brokenness from her face. "We still have to talk, but that's because I believe we can make it work."

She didn't say a word still, but the weigh that seemed to be weighing her down seemed to have lifted a little. His hand reached out to grasp hers, gently, re-establishing that connection.

"We will make this work," he said again, no longer sure if he was trying to assure her or himself. He only knew that this was what he wanted.

He wanted it to work.

* * *

Yes, this is done... FINALLYl, and I have nothing to blame the lateness of this one on but my own writer's block... the first time since writing this that I actually have a hard time coming up with a chapter... I knew I wasn't going to move beyond the trust issue yet, but still, I just can't bring myself to get them from almost beating the crap out of one another to all chubby in 1 moment... so yea, sorry this is late, but this is my attempt to bridge that gap...

Thanks to those of you who reviewed. I'm glad you did, and yes, I'll try to keep these short in case they do block me for yacking on and on and on...


	16. Ensemble: Forbidden Fruits

Chapter 16 - Ensemble

Disclaimers: not mine, just borrowing them to play.

Spoilers: Still on Fordibben Fruits

* * *

It was quickly getting to be a familiar feeling: His arm heavy across her stomach, his breaths tickling the back of her ear.

Peace, tranquil. Secure.

The sun was shining into her bedroom now, but she stubbornly kept her eyes closed, in hope of prolonging this moment.

She felt him shift, and knew that he, too, was awake. She didn't want to turn around – wasn't sure if she wanted to turn around – though, because doing so it would be like accepting that it was reality.

That it was going to end.

She didn't want it to end.

He took that choice away from her when he placed a soft kiss at the shell of her ear and sighed her name.

There was no running away now. No more.

"Morning," she murmured, still clinging to the sheets around her.

He held onto her tighter, pulling her closer to him, her back against his chest, her tank-top to his t-shirt.

They weren't naked, but it felt as though they were much more intimate than if they had not an inch of clothes between them.

"Morning," he echoed, his voice sleepy.

They hadn't talked much after his declaration that their relationship was going to work. She gladly took his reassurance, because she didn't know how she would handle it if he had declared that he wanted out.

He had reassured her. Having noted the fatigue in both of them, he declared that they could talk after some sleep. She followed him back to her bed without much protest. She wanted to feel him close again.

She didn't want to talk though.

"Do you have to go in today?" he asked.

She searched her sleep heavy brain for that bit of information, "Just on call."

"I'll call and let them know I won't be in until later," he said, his arm loosening a little. "Do you want breakfast?"

"I'll cook," she offered. Now that the spell was broken, she needed out of the room.

Anything to delay the inevitable.

He didn't seem to pick up on her agitation, and simply nodded, "Mind if I get the shower?"

"Go ahead," she slipped out of his embrace. "You know where everything is."

She watched him get up, let herself be mesmerized by his smile, and waited until he was in the bathroom before she threw on her robe and headed to the kitchen.

Breakfast would be a simple affair. She wasn't anticipating company; her fridge simply wasn't stocked beyond the basic.

She was just finishing up the last of the bacon when Mac walked in to her kitchen, dressed again the sweats and pants he left in her home, his cell phone at his ear.

"Yes, just call me on my cell if you need anything. I'll be in later this morning."

She portioned out the food and waited while he finished.

Such domesticity in this simple scene. Something more for her to cling onto should her whole world fall apart.

"Hi," he stopped at the kitchen table and smiled.

"Hi," she replied with a matching smile. Her stomach was doing flip-flops, filled with anticipation.

"I, uh – " he started, shaking his head, "How are you feeling this morning?"

She took a minute to think of her response. Her natural instinct was to claim that she was fine. She was Stella Bonasera, NYPD Detective. She would be fine.

But then, she wasn't. She simply wasn't.

"I'm going to be fine," she finally settled. No, she wasn't fine, but she would be damned if she let this take her down.

"We still need to talk," he declared, and she schooled her features to remain calm.

She waited. It was his call what he wanted to talk about.

She was not about to bring him in on the fact that she had launched a campaign against Diakos with Jess Angell and she might very well lose her job, her reputation, everything that defined her because of that. That much she was certain.

She hastened to think what it would do to their relationship when he found out, the lingering doubt in her, the butterflies in her stomach whenever she thought about the hurt he'd feel for being left out of the loop and purposefully lied to.

But the move had already been made. What was done was done, and now, her primary concern was survival. Survival, and keeping Mac as far away from the craziness of it all as possible.

He might hate her for it, but she was not about to risk him knowing about it, then placing himself in the thick of a dangerous situation because he felt the need to rescue her.

Mac was looking at her curiously, and she could read him well enough that he suspected something.

"Mac, I'm going to be fine, really."

"You know you can trust me with everything, right?"

"I know," she nodded. "But Mac, these are something that I need to sort out on my own. I'd love to tell you about it, but this really is something that I need to work out before I can come to you with it."

He still didn't look convinced.

"Mac, I will let you know what's happening soon as I am ready."

Finally, he nodded, and she relaxed a little with relief. He wasn't going to push. Good.

They finished the rest of their meal in quiet conversation. Nothing major, nothing that touched on work or cases or scenes. Just small talks.

"I still need to get into the office," he sighed, and she nodded.

"You might want to go home and take another shower. Danny and Flack might have too much fun at you smelling all fruity."

He smiled at her words, "I'm going to go home and get a new suit."

She walked him to the door and lingered there, waiting while he put on his coat.

Her breath caught when he leaned in closer, his eyes seeking permissions that she readily gave.

His lips grazed hers softly, and she let herself cling to him for a while longer, "Stella, you do know that when we say we'll keep our personal lives out of the office, we need to do just that for our personal lives too, right?"

She pulled back to look at him.

"We will be alright," she echoed his thought from the night before.

"Yes, we will be," he confirmed. "Whatever it is that you're working on, please, be careful. I'm here whenever you're ready to talk, alright?"

She nodded and flung her arms around his neck and hung on tight. She could feel the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes, but she wasn't going to give in to them.

"Have dinner with me tonight," he asked before pulling back slightly to read her face.

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight," he was looking at her with a touch of nervousness in his eyes. As if afraid that she would say no.

As if she would.

"Tonight," she confirmed, and gave him a small smile. With one last peck on her cheek, he was gone.

She stood by her window and watched him as he got into his car and drove away. It was almost surreal. They had done it. They had taken the final step, further cementing the relationship they shared. It was a step that they had waited with baited breath.

It would be ingrained in her memory now. It wasn't as she had imagined, but it was still something she would treasure, something that she had shared with the man of her life. It was totally theirs, nobody else's. If anything were to happen, she knew she would always have this moment.

And she would be fine with that. It was her choice, and she would be fine with it.

Now all that was left for her was to keep up the façade, to keep the worries at bay and keep her dreams alive.

* * *

A/N: I think I'm finally getting out of that dark angsty cycle and to get them back to where the light mood that seem to take place on the show! I still can't believe them... Hope you'd like this one... sorry this is a little late - I was at a live figure skating competition from 12 to 11:25pm yesterday... and I worked on it during intermissions :). Lemme know.

And oh, just... be prepared this may end soon or go AU soon, because according to spoilers...

SPOILER

SPOILER

SPOILER

SPOILER

Stella's gonna get a date to a Mayor's ball! *grumble*... how am I supposed to fit THAT in? urggg...

SPOILER

SPOILER

SPOILER

SPOILER

Anyway, just some thoughts....

Until next time!


	17. Pas d'autres: Help

Truth 17 - Pas d'autres

Disclaimers: Not mine, just borrowing them to play.

Spoiler: 5.12 Help

* * *

She was feeling her age, definitely getting too old to be tossed around in an apartment by a suspect. Her muscles ached, her hands and feet felt heavy. She grimaced just thinking how the small altercation had tired her out, and that thought weighed down on her shoulder.

She couldn't afford to be relaxed; couldn't afford any mistakes; couldn't afford getting caught off guard again. True, she owned a gun, and was a damn good shot, but that hadn't helped her much in the past, had it? No, she wouldn't rely on the firearm. She would rely on her training and her awareness of the world around her. It might be fine to let a suspect toss her around his apartment, it would be a different story if Diakos got his hands on her again.

The punching bag swung slowly in front of her as she took a drink of water. She had moved from practising her set of wing tsun to taking her frustration out on the punching bad. The back of her sports bra clung uncomfortably to her back with her sweat, but she set those thoughts to the back of her mind. She needed to train, to hone her skills, to get better.

It was a matter of life and death. She simply had to get better.

"Well, well, well, look who's finally making a reappearance," the taunting voice made her smile, and she turned around to face her companion with a glint in her eyes.

"Walsh," she acknowledged the man in front of him with a teasing smile. "Fancy seeing you here!"

"I do work out from time to time, unlike you who go MIA whenever it gets tough," the firefighter responded with a cheeky grin. "So, care for a match up?"

"Missed my beatings that much while I was gone, Walsh?"

"Oh, I don't know, Stella," he wriggled his brows, and in a completely charming voice, he added, "Maybe I just want to spend more time in close contact with you."

She laughed, noting that there wasn't even an ounce of fluttering inside her. None of the want, need, nerves that coursed through her veins quickly whenever Mac was within reach or within sight. Brendon Walsh was a charming man, she would admit. Maybe if she had never met Mac Taylor. Maybe.

"Well, I don't know if I am willing to let you take advantage of me that way," she teased back.

Walsh laughed at her words, "You are so cocky, you know that? Well, why don't we make this more interesting then?"

"Oh, how so?" she asked as she made her way towards the sparring mat.

"Whoever wins can call in a favour at anytime," he declared.

That gave her pause – she didn't like owing anyone any favours. That often spelled trouble for her.

"What, you chicken now?" he taunted.

She turned and shot him a scowl, "In your dreams, Walsh. Just be ready to pay up."

They were rather equally matched. Stella with her agility and gracefulness almost counteracted his advantage in strength and height. She was quick to avoid then to counter his high power jabs, putting in strategic hits of her own as she went along.

Then, the hair at the back of her neck stood up. Someone was watching. Quickly, almost carelessly, she let her concentration loose and let herself be distracted. That concentration cost her. She was flat on her back within seconds, one Brendon Walsh hovering about her with a triumphant smile.

"And the bragging right goes to Brendon Walsh," he declared with a satisfied smile. "You owe me, Stella Bonasera."

"I always hold up my end of the bargain," she promised with a slight scowl on her face, catching Mac at the doorway to the gym and almost burning a hole at the back of Walsh's head, "Maybe starting now to save you from getting a Marine-style dressing down. You better get off of me now."

The firefighter looked a little sheepish, and Stella wondered if many women had fallen under his spell by this move.

Not her though, and not with the man in her life standing just in the doorway, ready to pounce.

Always her knight in his shiny armour.

"Well, just remember you owe me one," he reminded as he hopped off the mat and extended his hand to help her up. She swatted it away playfully and climbed up herself.

"I always pay up," she declared, getting her a nod from the firefighter. "I'm sure I'll hear from you soon."

"Oh, that you will," the man laughed before he made his way to the men's facilities, leaving her behind.

She turned around to the doorway, and saw that Mac had already moved into the gym and was walking over to her. She waited with a smile on her face. The warmth, the needs, desire, nervousness, all those absent emotions when Brendon Walsh was near her came back at full force. At the sight of this one man, who could control her emotions and change her life.

"You looked good," he commented as he moved to stand beside her. He looked slightly out of place, with his suit and thick jacket, but then, both of them had been in this situation often, when they were interviewing suspects at the gym. Self-consciously, she ran her hand through her hair, hoping to tame the curls somewhat to match his impeccable appearance. "I know you're good at sparring, but I never knew you were that quick."

"You just saw me flat on my back, Mac. You call that good?"

"Well, to your credit, you were fighting a guy at least 30 pounds heavier than you," he justified, then ran his hand softly down her sweaty left shoulder to her arm, "Plus, you were hurt."

She looked down and saw the bruise that covered her shoulder – she had almost forgotten that. It wasn't that bad, really. It didn't really hurt unless she put any pressure on it, and she was now glad that Brendon Walsh had been keeping away from her left side. The guy was quite sensitive, after all.

Still, she hated herself for allowing the perp to put it there. She was Stella Bonasera. She should be able to take care of herself without having to shoot their suspect. She was trained for that.

She grimaced when his hand moved to a sore spot, "I'm fine, Mac. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."

"I know, I know," he still couldn't tear his sight from the ugly bruise on her shoulder though. "This is just – "

"You worry," she finished for him, knowing what he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. "Thank you."

He looked at her with a perplexed expression, his surprise shining through his eyes. She wasn't quite sure why she was thanking him either – maybe it was for letting her be herself, for letting her take care of herself even though it was tough for him to see her hurt, for knowing her well enough that she didn't need his help but wanted his support nonetheless?

Regardless, she was thankful for him being by her side.

"So, you ready to go?" he drew her attention back to him. "I'm thinking of that Italitan restaurant we tried a few months back."

"I stink, Mac," she frowned. "You can't just take me away after I worked out for an hour."

"You still look amazing," his voice dropped to a low whisper. He raised his hand to tuck a stray piece of hair back behind her ear, and his hand lingered a little longer that needed, and brushed her cheek, gently – a soft caress.

"I'll be there in 10," she promised, her smile widening and her heart melting. He nodded at that, and with one last squeeze of her hand, walked back out to his car.

She stood watching him leave, thinking, wondering, marveling at the way their relationship had moved in the last little while. Their professional relationship was now back on track; their last argument seemed stowed away, if not forgotten. They were closer, more together.

She wasn't delusional enough to think that it would all be a smooth sail for the rest of their lives. She still had the dark clouds looming over her head, with danger lurking just around the corner waiting to pounce on her, but for the moment there, with him by her side, it was as if all those didn't matter.

He was with her. That was all that mattered.

* * *

Thanks to those of you who are still sticking with this story... I was thinking the other day... wow... this is close to 20 chapters... I've never writte anything longer than 8, and that had been years ago... this is certainly a big step for me... not too sure how successful this will turn out to be, but eh, I'm puttin 20 + chapters of story out here... so thanks for all of you who review and those of you favouriting this... it amazes me still how many alerts I get each week for this story.

Now, onto a more serious matter... I have noticed that someone is so appreciative of the lines I use in this story (and other) that she started to use it in her own story without credit... I'm flattered, really, that you like those lines so much, but I actually do recognize my own writing - especially lines that I spent a long time crafting to fit and to hold special meaning... I've seen it in several of your stories a while back now, and I just want to say... I'm glad you like my stories, but if you do that again, I won't hesitate to report you... at least ask if you could use those lines if you're keen to ues them.

Other than that, oh, well, I guess you can all see the get up I'm using for next week's episode a mile away, right? well, let's hope the writers won't spoil my fun at this... and yesterday's episode... *swoom*... it's so good... especially those nuisances between Mac & Stella? Those are just perfect!

Anyway, gotta shut up now before I get in trouble... drop me a line if u haf time.

Until next time.


	18. La Simplicité: Help

Chapter 18 -La Simplicité

Disclaimers: Not mine, just borrowing them to play!

Spoiler: up to 5.12 Help

* * *

He woke up to the smell of coffee.

Not that it was anything unusual. He had his coffee maker on a timer so that he wouldn't have to worry about making a pot before going through his morning routines. But this felt different.

He was on the "wrong" side of the bed, and the cover brushing against his shirtless chest convinced him more so that something wasn't right.

It took a while for the memories to flow back. Much more pleasant memories than the first time they had come together and succumbed to their shared passion.

They had shared a nice dinner the night before at the Italian restaurant they both loved. They had taken walks around the city, then, reminiscent of the night he considered to be the official start of their relationship. Afterwards, they had ended up again in her apartment.

There was no rushing this time. The heat and intensity form the last time was replaced by the slow exploration and gentleness of the night before. They weren't trying to stymie other emotions, but learning, getting to know one another on a whole new level.

It wouldn't replace their memories of their first time, but it would be remembered as the night they truly became one.

It was funny how she seemed to discard her rule of no men in her apartment right out the window when it came to him. He was deeply honoured, in fact, but still, her adamants about no men in her apartment still rang loud in his head.

In fact, he had mentioned that to her, had asked her if she was alright with him being in her apartment all the time. She had simply shrugged and said that she trusted him.

She trusted him with her life, and she trusted him with her hearts.

Those thoughts humbled him, and he vowed to give this woman everything she deserved.

Pushing the cover back, he swung his legs to the side and sit up properly. His sweater was already folded neatly on the side, waiting and inviting.

He did his business first before moving towards the kitchen.

And stopped himself right in the living room looking in.

She had one of his shirts on. It was too long for her and it hung like a mini skirt. He had always heard others said how women wearing their husband's or boyfriend's close gave the sexiest image. Now he understood that sentiment.

It wasn't just the sex appeal for him. Of course she looked lovely in his shirt, but for him, it was more the domesticity and intimacy implied in that action. They were truly together, being one with each other. They were sharing their lives, sharing themselves.

He stood still and just observed her making breakfast. She was humming, a tune he recognized as from the radio but couldn't really place. The smell of coffee and breakfast was in the air, the woman he loved was in the kitchen wearing his shirt, and he was standing in the living room admiring the view.

It made an excellent image in his head; it gave him the warmth and the feeling of a family he thought he had lost forever when Claire was taken away.

She spotted him when she turned around with two plateful of food. She stopped, and somehow, a rosy tint seemed to appear on her cheeks as she hurried to set the plates down.

"Good morning," he said first, his voice huskier than normal.

"Good morning," she replied, and he was pleased that she seemed to have the same trouble articulating her words as he did as well. "Well, I made breakfast."

"I can see," he moved towards her, drawn towards her. He took her hand in his and drew her closer for a soft kiss.

"Yes, good morning indeed," she murmured against his lips, "Breakfast's ready. It's nothing fancy, but I promise it's edible."

"I trust you, Stella," he simply said and watched as the smile graced her face again.

Breakfast turned into a quiet affair between the two. They were sitting beside one another, their arms brushing and their thighs touching. She was so close that Mac could feel the heat from her.

He took command of cleaning up afterwards, shooing her out to her living room with a mug of coffee. She complied with an amused smile.

It shouldn't have felt so right for him to be doing this. There was simplicity, an ease, in all the things they did this morning, a simplicity that should only come from couples married for decades.

Maybe, in a way, they were like those couples. They had known one another longer than many married couples had. They had been through so much together and they knew each other inside and out.

It shouldn't have felt so right, but it did, and Mac Taylor decided that he should leave it at that and be content with life for once.

Grabbing his own mug, he moved to join her in the living room and was given another opportunity to observe her.

Something was weighing on her recently. Sure, she was still the quick, expressive woman he adored, but something, a shadow of sort, was just lurking beneath the surface. She had tried very hard to suppress it, especially in his presence, but he was aching to know what it was, even if it was just to share the burden of knowing with her.

He could still see the bruise on her shoulder where it had connected with the couch then the floor from the day before. That alone had been on his mind since he had heard about it. His hand clenched just thinking of the incident. He could feel the anger just boiling inside him, thinking of what had happened. It hadn't been the first time that she was hurt while on the job, and it would never be the last, but more than ever, he felt the untamed anger towards the one who lay a hand on her.

"You gonna stand there or you gonna join me?"

He diverted his sight towards her and found that she had moved from her position and was standing across from him.

"I need to leave soon, though," a hint of regret in his voice, a pang in his heart. He didn't want to leave, but he did have work to do.

"I know," she sighed, setting her mug down on the table beside her. "We can't have you caught wearing the same wrinkled suit to work smelling like fruits and coconuts."

He shook his head sadly, "Not yet."

"Eventually, they will find out though," she shrugged. "I mean, we work with a team of seasoned investigators and cops. They are bound to notice that we are sharing more day-off's together and all that."

"Do you have a problem with them finding out?"

She didn't take much time to consider, "No. You?"

He had asked himself the question already. What would he do if others found out about them? When he was with Peyton, he had worked hard to keep a low profile until it had nearly cost him the relationship. Then, he had finally confided in Stella and stopped hiding.

He wasn't sure he wanted to put Stella and himself through the same emotional roller coaster ride though. She deserved so much more than being hidden from the world.

"I don't think I want to flaunt the relationship to everyone in the lab," he finally stated. He was tired of hiding, tired of keeping this away from people, but there was still decorum to consider, still the threat of professional repercussion should anything go wrong. "But I don't want to hide either."

She nodded, accepting his words and his explanations. There was no accusation from her, no pointed question about why he didn't want to share this with their friends.

She understood his reasons, and trusted his feelings.

The emotions were surging inside him and he reached over to bring her closer for a kiss, "I'm sure someone will figure it out soon though."

"We'll deal with it when it happens then," she promised softly.

He nodded, "We'll deal with it then, but no hiding anymore."

"No hiding," she echoed, then turned her smile into a mischievous grin, "Does that mean I get to ogle your butt when you're working a scene?"

He must have scowled and played right into her hand, because she laughed out loud at him, "Stella – "

"I know, I know," she cut him off with laughter still in her voice. "No flaunting our relationship. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate what I see."

"And you stay away from those low-cut blouse because I can't promise I'll be able to refrain from bashing the next perp who spends more time talking to your cleavage than to us."

She seemed startled by his comments, "Mac?"

"Just making my position clear, Stell," he shook his head. "Just making my position clear."

She gave him a small smile, one that sent warmth and shiver of desires through his veins, "You have nothing to worry about."

"I know," he sighed, claiming her lips once again in a soft kiss before pulling back, "And I really have to go before I am late for shift."

"I'll see you at the lab then."

He brushed her cheek gently then, his version of kissing her when circumstances wouldn't allow for a public display of emotions. He hoped she would understand his gestures, and felt his heart soar when she gave him a smile that told him she understood.

With one last caress, he stepped away and marched toward his car. He was cutting it close, but it was all worth it. What he had with Stella, it was all worth it.

* * *

Ahh, this is done... thanks to everyone who reviewed. I have yet to respond individually - which would be my next task... but life's been a bit hectic...

What's up with me and all these fluff lately anyway... maybe I need to start laying it on thicker... MMMmmm... and I think we are moving towards the more "oomph" territory now heading into March since we only have about 10 more episodes or so to go... which means I'll be laying more lag time between actual episodes and my follow-up...since, well, you never know what the writers will decide to throw out...

I'm still waiting for them to address somehow Stella's little stint... but it's not there yet... still... though I'm happy that we've seen the last slated appearance of Gillian Whitford and well... I think we're save on Mac's front.. Stella's though... can someone please tell CBS and the writers that the firefighter's not really doing it? I mean, he's cute and good looking, but why do we need him? as an eye candy for us to ogle? bleh... we have Mac / Gary Sinise for that :P.

Anyway, here it is... lemme know.

Until next time.


	19. Chez Nous: Rush to Judgement

Chapter 19: Revenir chez Nous

Disclaimers: Not mine...

Spoilers: Rush to Judgement

* * *

"You should probably go see her, you know," Mac said with an amused glance at his companion over their drinks.

Don Flack rested his head on his hand and looked back at the senior detective, "Who?"

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Flack," yes, Mac Taylor was definitely amused, "but in the interest of being clear: Go talk to Angell before you get into more trouble."

"Hey, you're the one that suggested we should catch the Rangers' Game," he protested.

"Well, I didn't you know you would be playing with your cell phone and contemplating exit strategies all the while watching the Rangers get killed on ice."

"Hey," the younger detective protested weakly, but didn't say much else.

"Go, buy her some flowers or something," the head CSI once again urged. "Anything to get her to forget that you did whatever idiotic thing that you did."

"What makes you think that I was the one who was wrong?"

Mac chuckled at the younger detective's indignant tone, "Trust me, Flack, when something's wrong in a relationship, it's always the guys that are in the wrong."

There wasn't any more protest coming from Don Flack, but instead, the homicide detective gave the CSI an amused look of his own.

"What?"

"Since when did you start giving advice on romances, Mac," the younger man replied. "Is there a secret 'Dear Mac' column that I don't know about yet?"

"I have been married once, you know?" Mac retorted, and waited for the familiar pang in his heart at the mention of his marriage. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as he had thought. It was like a small ripple in a calm lake, nothing like the tug he was expecting.

The mention of the time so long ago in his life had subdued Flack's earlier jovial mood, however. The detective quickly downed the rest of his drinks and looked at his friend, "Are you sure you're alright with my leaving?"

"Go," Mac had to stop himself from grinning. Flack was no good at hiding how he really wanted to get out of here to go to his girlfriend. "Go get her some flowers and grovel."

He watched as the younger man threw down some money on the table to cover their drinks with an arched eyebrow.

"It's on me," he explained. "A thank you for standing by me through all this and all."

"You would have done the same for me," Mac felt compelled to point it out.

"Yea, but I wouldn't know how to use the cool gadgets you guys use to make it happen so quickly," the younger man shrugged into his coat. "Well, I'm off now, and you probably should call your lady too. Don't keep her waiting for too long."

He must have looked as stunned as he had felt, because Flack pointed a finger at him before he could protest, "Don't bother denying it, Mac. I am a detective; I am paid to detect things."

"Flack – " he wanted to warn the younger man, to keep it to himself, remembering suddenly the conversation he had had with Stella about this happening exactly, and wondered if he should just let Flack make his own assumption.

"Don't you play dumb with me, Mac," Flack grinned. "It doesn't suit you either."

With that, the younger man took his exit, presumably to locate the most suitable groveling prop for his dark haired detective. Mac allowed himself to sit at their table, to watch those around him, and to let the crowd drown out the outside city as he pondered the current situation.

Two things were warring for his attention in his mind – the facts that he felt more nostalgia than pain when he mentioned his marriage to Claire, and that Don Flack had figured out about his relationship.

Claire, the woman who had been the centre of his universe for almost a decade and a half. It hadn't been easy to let her go, but he had had to. He had to, because he finally realized that he couldn't keep living in the past.

The pain that had always accompanied him whenever he thought of his late wife had lessened significantly over the years, and Mac wasn't oblivious to its cause. Stella. She was in his life now, filling in the void left by loosing someone so important to him.

She had filled in the holes in his heart and had coaxed him back to the land of the living. Now he knew he was ready. He had her in his life now, and he was not going to give it up. Somewhere down in the pit of his stomach, he knew it was all too good to last for too long, but he pushed that thought down. They would cross that bridge when it came to that. For the moment, he simply appreciated life with the woman who meant the world to him.

And it was alright if the whole world figured it out.

Were it not for the need of decorum and professionalism, he would not even bother trying to conceal his relationship with Stella. She did not deserve that; their relationship did not deserve that. It frustrated him to know that he could not share with others the delightful feelings he had in his stomach and how the world had become warmer and brighter because of her. He wasn't asking to shout his feelings off of rooftops, but he didn't want to be so conscientious all the time either.

Before, others finding out about his relationship scared him. With Peyton, he had put off wanting others to find out about them until she handed him the ultimatum, and his reluctance to fail had prompted him to go public with the pathologist. He never had had the urge to show others his feelings then. He never lamented the fact that the relationship wasn't made public.

He did now. There wasn't anything he could do about it, but he wanted to do something. He wasn't going to start making out in every flat surface of the lab, but he wanted to be able to hold her hand when she was tired, to give her a hug when she was down, to brush the worries off of her face when she was weighed down.

He wanted to be able to do all those little things for her in public and not be misconstrued as inappropriate behaviour between the boss and his subordinate. Still, it likely would not happen any time soon.

They had just come to an agreement a few days ago, about how they would handle the team finding out. He almost wished that someone would figure it out so he wouldn't have to be so conflicted. He liked to keep his life private, but he hated deceiving others. He wanted to keep the world from intruding upon their own time and their relationship; he didn't want to feel like the relationship was an error because they had to keep hiding their feelings.

Soon, the noise level at the bar was getting too unbearable. Shrugging on his own jacket, he took his leave into the brisk winter night. With the IAB on Flack's case, and the whole precinct's reaction to Flack's relationship with Angell, both he and Stella had taken the care to stay more professional than usual. Nothing outrageous, but they kept a certain distance between them, avoiding even the appearance of over-friendliness.

Now he missed her. He wanted to talk to her and just have her close to him.

He called her cell phone. She picked up after a few rings, obviously not at home.

"Bonasera."

"Hey, it's me."

"Well, hello, me," she teased gently, and he smiled. Such simple, over-used lines made special because it was she who said it.

"Well, _Bonasera_, where are you?"

"Oh, I'm just doing some grocery shopping," she answered, and true to her words, he could hear the registers going off in the background.

"Couldn't sleep?" he queried, noting that it was almost midnight and remembering her conversation about finding something productive to do when sleep wouldn't come.

"Yea," she admitted softly. "Guess I was just strung too tight with the whole thing with Flack and all. How's the guy doing anyway? I thought you two are catching the Rangers' Game?"

"We were, but he has some groveling to do," he explained, already picking up his pace to his car. If she weren't asleep…

"Ah, to a certain female detective, I assume?"

"Of course," he shifted his phone to the other hand as he opened the door to his SUV and put the seat belt on. "Hey Stell, you heading home soon?"

She didn't say anything for a while, and he held his breath. He hadn't overstepped the line, had he?

"Yea, I am," she answered, her voice a touch softer than before, and he wondered if she could tell his thoughts just by his question.

"Would you mind if I – er – " he knew what he wanted, but the words wouldn't form. He hated stammering, wanted to finish his sentence at least, but it wasn't happening.

"Drive safely," she filled in for him when he failed to complete his thought, her tone soft and gentle, if a little timid. "I'll be waiting."

He smiled. She would be waiting for him. "I'll see you in 15 then."

"See you in 15," she echoed before hanging up.

It probably didn't mean much, this impromptu late-night rendez-vous of theirs, but still, he felt slight anticipation building up in him. He was going to her. After a long day, after spending time with others, he was still going to her.

It felt strangely akin to going home.

* * *

This is done... yay... just want to give a heads up... I'm going to be out of town next week, which means that I won't be able to watch next week's ep until I return home on the Sunday... I am wondering if I should post the next chapter up before I leave in 2 days... or should I wait until I get a chance to catch next week's ep when I get back home... you know... they just tripped me up with the whole Ella thing... so... yea...

Speaking of this ep's... oh, I LOVED it... it's good story, and good character development for both mac & Stella... and their moments together are just divine!! *sigh*.... love it...

Anyway, thanks for reading, and kudo's to those of you who stuck with this story for so long... I'm ready for it to wind down a little now... never knew writing multi-chapter story would be so exhausting!

Until next time...


	20. Les Pensées: The Party's Over

Chapter 20 – Les Pensées

Disclaimers: Not mine

Spoiler - well, really already up to The Party's Over… but not really there yet…

Her back was to him. She was looking out the window late at night and not at him. It was getting late. They had shared a brief moment of quietness on the couch before she shooed him to her bed.

"You have the early shift tomorrow morning, Mac," she had said all the while leading him to her bed.

He had asked why she wasn't sleeping. She had said she would come to bed soon as she had a few things sorted out.

He had fallen asleep before she had made it back, and now, when he was again awake, 3 hours later, she obviously hadn't slept one bit.

Standing in front of her window now, with a mug of tea in her hand and hair loose and covering her face, she looked alone and vulnerable, and Mac couldn't help but wonder what it was that was weighing in on her so.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Mmm?" she murmured before turning around to face him. "Why aren't you sleeping? You have the early shift tomorrow."

"I'll manage," he appeased her. "Stella, what's on your mind?"

"Well," she started, then extended her hand, palms up, elegant fingers pointing at him.

"Stell?"

"You said penny for my thoughts."

He was puzzled, until he noted how amused she looked at his cluelessness, "You aren't serious."

She looked as though she could barely keep her amusement in checked, "I expect payment up front."

He groaned, knowing how he had set himself up for this, "You're not seriously going to make me pay up, are you?"

"You know very well that I fully intend to collect my penny," she grinned.

"I don't think I have cash on me at the moment," he bargained, knowing full well that she would make him pay for it. "Can I pay with something else?"

She studied him with that amused smile on her lips. She was enjoying this, and he was more than willing to let her have this fun at his expense. He was pretty much open to doing anything as long as it made this woman happy.

"I can be persuaded," she sassed, and Mac almost laughed out loud at the mischievous expression she wore.

"I'm sure you can," he grinned.

She looked at him expectantly, and he leaned in to brush his lips against hers, once, twice, three times, before pulling back and looking deep into her eyes, "So, are you?"

"Maybe?" she pretended to ponder, and he laughed out loud before leaning in again to give her another searing kiss.

"Oh, I'm definitely convinced now," she lingered against his lips before letting out a soft sigh.

"So, what is it that I've paid to find out?"

"Well," she turned a little subdued suddenly, and Mac felt his heart thumping louder, trying to guess what it was that Stella was not telling him.

"Stell?"

"Ican'tgowithyoutotheDeputyMayor'sBall," she blurted out quickly, and he looked at her bewildered, trying to decipher her words.

"You want to try it again, but slower?"

She seemed to be pondering his requests, before taking a deep breath, "I can't go with you to the Deputy Mayor's Ball."

His heart was still thumping too loudly, but somehow, her stumbling words somehow made him feel better even though her words disappointed him. He had been thinking about that, thinking about if it could be considered as flaunting their relationship if she arrived on his arms.

Of course she had gone with him to other events before, dragged him to way too many so that he would not end up on the bad side of the mayor or the Commissioner, and nobody had had any problems with it. They just all took it as perfectly normal for Stella Bonasera to arrive with him.

It was instead when Peyton had accompanied him that people looked at him with a surprised smile, as if it wasn't expected.

"Can I at least get an explanation as to why?"

She looked thoroughly embarrassed, her face a little flushed as she wringed her hands. Somehow, he was starting to feel more amused than shocked and disappointed.

"Well – " she started, but again, she fumbled with her words

"I'm going to demand a refund if you don't start talking soon, Stell," he couldn't contain the amusement in his tone, and she must have caught on because she turned to him with a glare.

"You want a refund?"

"If you insist on not talking," he grinned. "Of course, there is always way to make you talk."

"Such as?"

"How about this," he leaned in, brushing his lips against her softly, barely making contact, and pulling back, before repeating the action again and again, until she moaned in protest.

"Ready to talk?" he asked, a brow rose in mock challenge.

"Not really," she teased, her tone turning lighter once again.

"Well, then, I'd like my payment back," he declared.

"You want your penny back?"

"I paid in kind," he shook his head. "I expect a refund in kind."

She laughed at his words, and he couldn't hold onto his own amusement any longer. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his again, and his hand went to her waist, holding her to him and keeping her close. Soon, he felt himself getting pushed backward until he was on her couch with her in his laps.

They stayed on the couch for a long time, the kisses turning from passionate to lingering and back to being passionate, until his lungs burned from not enough oxygen.

He pulled back slightly to look at her face. Some may call it the male ego, but he couldn't help but felt a bit of pride seeing her flushed face and the endearment she wore. His heart warmed at her sight on her once again, marvelling over and over how he was so lucky to be with her, in this position, sharing the feeling that he had thought was no longer possible the moment Claire left.

He brushed the pieces of hair that had fallen onto her face back behind her ears, his hand brushing against her soft cheeks, feeling her leaned into his touch.

"Stella," he called softly, and waited patiently for her to open her eyes.

"MMmm?" she finally looked at him.

"So can you tell me now why I'm going to be on my own during the Deputy Mayor's Ball?"

She flushed anew, "It's silly, really."

"Tell me."

"Well, remember Brendon Walsh?"

Somehow, the name drew a pang from him, and he felt suddenly threatened by simply the mention of his name, "What about him?"

"Down, Tiger," she chuckled; her hand automatically went to his shoulder to soothe him with a soft motion. "He's a friend, and I happen to owe him a favour."

"Let me guess, he wants you to go to the Deputy Mayor's Ball with him," his lips were set in a grim line. He wasn't exactly thrilled at t idea of another man expressing such interest in Stella.

"You got that right," she affirmed, her hand lingered on his shoulder.

He remained silent after that, thinking it through. He knew Stella was only repaying a favour she owe, but still, the thought of her going to the Mayor's Ball on another man's arms made him uneasy.

She must have sensed his displeasure though, because she kissed his cheek softly before whispering, "I may be going with him, but that doesn't mean I can't dance with you, right?"

"Well, if you put it that way," he conceded. Maybe this would be a good thing at the end though, maybe. He wasn't exactly happy with the arrangement still.

"Don't worry, Mac, he knows," she promised, and his head snapped to look at her. _He knows? Brendon Walsh knows?_ "I didn't tell him, Mac, not exactly, but he's a smart guy, and he can guess."

Thinking back to the time when he had observed them in the gym and his attitudes, it may not be that far-fetched that Brendon Walsh would have figured it out.

"And he still asked you to go with him?"

"He really just needs to get away from getting ripped by his buddies again," she shrugged.

It still didn't exactly make him feel any easier with the situation, but at least she was upfront about it, and he knew the whole story. Not the best scenario in his head, but he had to admit, it did make the situation less complicated for the both of them.

"Come on now, Mac, stop pouting," she tugged on his hand and got him to stand up from the couch. "Now, you gotta pay up."

"Come again?" he was taken aback by the turn of their conversation, but the expression on her face was enough to convince him to go along with her.

"You owe me again," her grin was mischievous. "My penny."

"You really want a penny?" he was catching on.

"Well, I'm open to persuasion again," she replied laughingly. He could only shake his head at her antics.

"How about this?" he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers again softly.

"That's good," she nodded, a big grin on her face.

"Good, good," he murmured against her lips. "That's good."

A/N: Oh, hey… yea… well, I'm actually away right now… haha… and this is the work of a 14-hour trans-Pacific flight… and a little bit of a fluff piece… haha… lemme know… be back later!


	21. Ce qui est Changé: She's not There

Truth 21 – Ce qui est changé

Disclaimers: Not mine, pinky swear!

Spoiler : 5.12 She's not there…

* * *

The rain was back in full force again, pouring down on the people still on the streets, splashing against the window at her apartment.

It was a tough case, one that had left an emotional scar on her and her partner, and maybe others on the team as well. She wasn't certain.

How quickly had things changed! Just before they had been called to the scene of the stabbing, she had been relaxing in her apartment with Mac, then the call came, and they were thrust into a night-mare like of a chase against the man behind such a dark scheme.

She was so exhausted, after having to see the terror and resignation of the girls. She could relate well with their sense of helplessness. She had experienced something similar when she was bumped around homes, but nothing as traumatic. This would be one of those cases she would never forget, their haunted looks that she would never get used to, no matter how long she had been a cop.

The image was ironed into her mind, the one of those girls huddled together in fear when they finally found them.

And she was furious, at herself for having been fooled by Katie – or Carolyn or Liza or whatever other name she went by, for wanting to believe so strongly that they had rescued at least one girl that she became so blind to her lies and treachery.

It was no consolation that they won at the end, that they had put a stop to her schemes of luring innocent young women who dared to dream into a life of nightmare.

Too many girls were already scarred because of her action. She only wished they had stopped her earlier.

And she would forever remember the expression Mac wore when they realized what was happening.

She was unprepared for his desperation. Mac Taylor was a proud man; he did not ask for support often. That was when she knew this case was really getting to him, the way he reached out to her amidst the cops and detectives at the scene.

Cases involving children had always struck a chord with her normally calm and cool boss. It forced him out of his comfort zones, and led him to be unavoidably invested on an emotional level. She knew of his weakness, but it had been a long time since she had seen the naked need for her comfort on his face in public.

She had longed to go to him and hug him and offer whatever it was that he needed from her, but she couldn't. They had a job to do, a pervert to catch, and there was no time for them to seek comfort in one another.

So they forged on.

She winced every time she recalled his expression, and breathed a sigh of relief when the mastermind behind this whole operation was caught and apprehended. They both had a job to do, and when she had last seen him – when they had parted way after spoiling another attempt by Katie – he had looked close to normal. Not quite yet, but close.

And here she was, waiting for him to make his way back to her. They had spent most of their time together in her apartment these days, and she knew he would know to find her here.

She knew Mac Taylor, and she knew that he would prefer to spend time on his own to sort out his thoughts before anything. He needed the time to deal with his own emotions before he could tell anyone what it was that he was feeling. That was his make-up, and Stella would always respect that.

And so, she waited for him to approach her. After they had taken "Katie" away, he had nodded at her and walked away. She didn't inquire about where it was that he was heading, or if he intended to meet up with her. She simply waited.

The phone in her apartment rang at exactly 4:29am, and when she picked up, he didn't sound apologetic about phoning her so late, nor worried about waking re up. He knew she would be unable to sleep, just like she knew he needed to be alone.

"How you holding up?" she asked softly, tempering down the urge to ask him to her apartment so she could see how he was doing herself.

"I'm – as well as I can be," she could imagine him shrugging as he spoke.

"That's good," she said, again biting her lips to keep herself from asking where he was. He needed his space, she reminded herself. It didn't matter that they were together, now closer than ever; Mac Taylor was Mac Taylor and there was something about that man that probably would never be changed.

Not that she wanted him to.

His thinking about her enough to call her was already an improvement. She couldn't help but grimaced at how pathetic that might have sounded to others who didn't know their history.

"How about you?" he reciprocated her concern. "Have you slept at all?"

She pondered about her answers, thinking what exactly it was that she should say, that she was really feeling.

"Stell?" he called her again, and she realized she had zoned out on him.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mac," she sighed. "I'm fine. I haven't slept. It's just – I will be seeing their faces for a while."

"I know what you mean," he agreed quietly.

Then, both were silent, out of words, their breathing the only sound transmitted through the phone line as the rain continued to pour down outside.

"Look, Stella," he started against hesitantly. "You're probably wondering where I am and all, after my taking off like that. It's just – "

"Don't," she stopped him. "I don't need you reporting your behaviour to me. I don't need you to tell me what it is that you're doing because you're worried about what I'd be thinking. Of course I'd be happy to know where you are and all, but – God, I'm rambling."

He had the nerves to chuckle at that, "Yes, you were."

"Watch it, Taylor."

"Oh, I will," he replied lightly before turning again to be more serious. "But Stell, I – look, you feel like getting breakfast?"

"Breakfast?"

"Yes, ham and cheese bagel okay?"

"You already know what the bakery will be selling?"

"I already have it with me," he retorted, even if he sounded slightly hesitant. "Fresh out of the oven."

She quirked her eyebrow even though he couldn't see her expression, "Mac, where are you?"

"Waiting for you to open your door."

She almost gasped and dropped her phone, but she hung on as she rushed to her front door and looked through the peep hole.

True to his words, he was standing right outside, his cell phone in one hand and a tray of coffee with a bag of pastries in the other.

"Why didn't you knock?"

"No hands, Stell," he almost whined, and she grinned.

"Well, seeing that you brought food," she trailed off as she opened the deadbolt on her door, snapping her phone shut when she had her front door opened. He mirrored her action.

"What? You're only after the food now?" he grinned at her and walked in as she stepped aside.

"Yea," she claimed, before turning serious again and continued to stare at him, "I just wasn't expecting you to be at my door after a day and night like that."

"I probably would have stayed away longer before," he agreed, setting the food on her breakfast bar before turning to stand in front of her. "I was going to take tomorrow and sort it all out in my head before I talk to you."

"What changed?"

He turned to look at her then, his eyes looking straight into hers and Stella found her breathing fastened. She wondered why she so stubbornly needed to know. He was already making an effort, to let her know what was happening, to include her. Still, just like any other woman, she wanted a little more.

"This," he said, gesturing the food on her coffee table before taking hold on her hand. "This has changed."

She nodded. Somehow, that seemed to be enough.

I gotta first say thank you to all of you who reviewed! A family matter took me out of the country last week so I hadn't had a chance to reply to your reviews individually – I'll do that soon.

And this one… I know, going a little backward, but last time's really was only a filler… to get the conversation out of the way… ha, this will go on as progressed now, I promise! Just be nice to this chapter… it's the work on the plane and then edited while I'm severely jetlagged!

Now that I'm not jet-lagged, I'll start working on the next one :)


	22. Le Sourire: The Party's Over

Chapter 22: Le Sourire

Disclaimers: They are not mine… juts borrowing them to play… will return them once they're done… I swear!

Spoiler: 5.13 The Party's Over

* * *

He was leaning against the door frame as she put on the final touches of her make-up. She looked good, more than good: beautiful, amazing, stunning.

Breathtaking.

He tried, but he really couldn't tear his eyes away from her, which would make enduring the evening with her in close proximity but on another man's arm seriously challenging.

"What?" she interrupted his musing with an amused voice, halting her hand's movement as she put on her earring.

"Just watching," he answered, shrugging with a sheepish grin.

"So, how do I look?" she put her hand down, smoothing over the invisible wrinkles at her skirt before looking up at him.

He took a deep breath, seeing her in that dress was doing funny thing to his body temperature; his mouth was turning dry at the same time.

"Yea, yea, you look good," he whispered, and smiled as she blushed. "Don't you think there is something wrong with this picture? You're going to the Deputy Mayor's ball with another man, and you're asking me to check out your dress?"

A flash of unease was apparent on her face before she managed to hide it, "I didn't know it would bother you this much."

"Neither did I, until now when I'm thinking about it more, when it's in my face, when I am looking at you all dressed up and know that Brandon Walsh would be here to pick you up soon."

She was biting her lips then, clearly thinking about what he said and what she should do and say in response. He was equally contemplative in watching her, sorting out his own feelings.

It was complicated. He had never been over possessive or overly jealous in relationships. It wasn't that he didn't trust Stella – on the contrary, he trusted her more than anyone, sometimes even more than he trusted himself. This was uncharacteristic of him, and he was at a loss of what to do.

"Mac, I –" she started, and stopped herself. "I don't know what it is that I can say."

He nodded, and couldn't help but feel the slither of disappointment that went through him.

_Is that what it is? That I want to hear her say the words?_

"You know I love you, right?" she said, and he had to look up to make sure he hadn't said his thoughts out loud. It was as if she was reading his mind and knew that he needed the assurance.

She was watching him; he could feel her eyes on him. They were looking straight into him, and as the shock and surprise filtered through his system, he didn't know how to respond.

Her eyes were growing wider by the minute, until she almost looked horrified at her words, "Oh, Mac, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – "

"You meant it, right?" he cut her off gravely.

She sighed, then, her hands playing with her dress and her eyes shifting about in the bedroom.

"How can you ask that of me when I don't even know what you're thinking?" she demanded, a hint of irritation, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "You know what? Let's forget it. I don't think we have the time to delve into it right now."

She was brushing by him, walking away from her sanctuary as he watched on. On its own accord, his hand went to grasp hers as she passed him, halting her in the movement and drawing her close at the same time.

"Stella," he started again. He wasn't sure what he should have said, but he would be damned if he let her walk out of this bedroom without clearing the air.

"What, Mac?"

"You know I'm not good at this," he started, buying time, or hoping for some help from her, he didn't know.

"Neither am I," she retorted, though the edge in her voice lessened somehow.

"I just – Stella, I can't explain why I am so uncomfortable with this. I mean, I know why you're doing it, and that there's nothing to it, but it's just," he shook his head in frustration. There were words in him, on his lips, but he just couldn't bring up enough air to give them voice.

"You just don't like it," she finished for him. It didn't explain anything.

It explained everything.

He didn't understand why he did it, but she did. At the end, maybe that was all that mattered.

"Stella, I'm – I'm sorry I ruined this for you," he murmured. What he ruined he wasn't sure, but he could feel the elation and satisfaction slipping out of her the moment his poorly constructed comments were made.

"It's alright," she shook her head. "I understand why you said that; at least I think I did."

"Then you know me better than I know myself," he echoed his earlier thought, and let that thought carried him forward.

She smiled at his words, a small, but genuine smile that he would keep in his memory along with all her other smiles. He decided that he didn't like this one – she looked too sad, too tentative. Stella Bonasera was anything but someone who exuded confidence and satisfaction.

The door bell rang at that moment, and Stella cursed.

He simply looked at her amused, with a wry smile, "I'll go get it and tell him you're just finishing up."

She looked at him confused, "But then, Mac – "

"It's fine," he reassured her. "He already knew."

He saw her tentative nod, and he smiled as he let go of her hand. He had already turned to the living room, he had to spin around and face her again, "I'm sure you'll hear this a lot tonight – several times from me, I hope – but you look beautiful, Stella."

She actually blushed at his words. Feeling a sense of giddy accomplishment welling up inside him, he marched towards the front door and let the firefighter in.

The other man didn't seem perturbed to see the lead CSI in his subordinate's apartment. Maybe there was nothing to be surprised about, when he already knew the whole story.

"You want anything to drink?" he offered, and the man shook his head negative.

"Thanks for helping out," Walsh said, and Mac's eyes darted around, self-conscious of how poorly he was reacting to this development mere half an hour earlier.

"It's – You're welcome," he shrugged. There really wasn't a correct response to it. "I'll go let Stella know you're here for her."

He didn't need to do that – Stella already knew Walsh was there, but in some creases of his mind, Mac wanted to do this; he wanted to make it clear that it was he who belonged in this apartment, though Stella was going to a formal dinner on the other man's arm.

He knocked on the door frame before stepping in, watching her as she wrapped a shawl around herself and tidied her hair one last time.

"He's here?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his as she walked closer to him.

"He's waiting outside," he supplied.

"Okay," the awkwardness was back in the room, and Mac was determined to brush it away this time. Extending his hand, he brought Stella's hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there.

She awarded him a smile.

He walked behind her as she walked out to meet Walsh. The man, obviously well taught as a gentleman, stood up from his position on the couch.

"Brandon," Stella greeted, a soft smile on her face, one that didn't touch her eyes, nor seeped through her voice. This was her polite smile, one reserved for the higher-up's or the media. That he could recognize.

Somehow, that one smile was all that he needed to chase the ugly thoughts away. The true smile of Stella was bright, and it brought shines to her face and sparkles in her eyes. The one she offered the firefighter was no match the treasured one is his memories.

"So, Mac," she turned around to look at him.

"Go, I'll take a cab there," he cut her off with a smile, and he could see the moment she registered the change in his demeanour.

"You're sure? This is not a scheme to run away from this, is it?"

"No," he laughed then, before leaning in to brush a chaste kiss on her cheek and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "You look absolutely stunning tonight, Stella, and I do love you."

She seemed shell-shocked when he pulled back, but he just squeezed her arm one more time, "Go knock them dead."

There was her true smile then, directed at him. She was happy, and then and there, Mac decided, there was likely nothing else in the world that would make him feel happier.

* * *

Ahh, so here it is… finally done! Hopefully you'll like it… as I said to many of you… I don't think there will be an all-out fluff chapter here for a while now, but I do try to insert some fluff whenever I can… like here… hope you do like it :)

btw, I have to say this… I just saw the spoiler for the second to last episode for this season… and…

SEE SPOILER 1

Oh man, I'm in Heaven, though I'm still (another spoiler)

SEE SPOILER 2

Yea… so… anyway… lemme know what you think… thanks to those of you who reviewed without signing in….

Until next time

PS! Gosh, I hate how this is turning into a prude and taking away part of the story's formatting without letting me know... it's always making me look stupid because I didn't know the lines weren't there anymore or something like that!

* * *

Spoiler 1:Stella and Mac going to Greece where Mac chased after her after the argument!

Spoiler 2: worried about who'll get killed in the finale

End for Spoiler


	23. Des Consequences Inconnus: Party's Over

Chapter 23: Des Consequences Inconnus

Spoiler: 5.15 The Party's Over

Same disclaimers applied.

* * *

She was ready for him when he arrived at her office at the end of their shift. The whole day, they had been dealing with the backlog. Right at the moment, she just wanted to go home and snuggle and rest her over-worked mind.

But it seemed as though it would not be the case. For the few times they had passed through one another at the lab corridor, or when they caught a minute to sit down and take a break, she could sense that something was bothering him. In fact, ever since he took a call early this morning, he had looked disturbed.

"You ready to go?" he asked her, his voice a touch weary.

"Yea," she nodded and proceeded to shut down her station.

He remained mute, choosing instead to look at her with an intensity in his blue depths.

"Mac, you alright?" she had to ask, her hand brushing against his in a way that left no doubt about their relationship in the lab, for everyone to see.

He let his guard down enough for her to see the disturbance in his eyes, and she knew better than to ask anymore. She simply nodded, taking in his silent messages, and let her hand fall away.

"Not here," he said as he stepped away. His tone tugged at her heart, knowing that something was weighing very heavily on his mind.

It hadn't been an easy week for them – things never were when a high profile political was involved, especially when said politician ended up in the morgue at the hands of his own, young son.

The media loved that story; the cops and the lab technicians hated the added pressure and attention.

That and the blue flu didn't help.

Fortunately, other than Danny, only a handful at the lab had decided to join in on the action. Still, the backlog caused was enormous, and there was unavoidably some animosity between the two groups.

She hadn't been able to get a read on Mac's feelings towards Danny the whole time through (she was almost afraid to ask, knowing how seriously Mac took his oath to serve and protect). She would imagine, though, that it must be more significant than defiance from Danny Messer that caused his grim mood.

Wordlessly, the two left the lab. Though she drove in herself this morning, he did not seem surprise when she climbed on his SUV and buckled herself in.

They were parked on the street near her apartment building 30 minutes later. Throughout the silent ride, Stella kept stealing glances at her partner, but the stubborn man revealed nothing.

She bit back a sigh.

She waited for him by his car, and his hand sought hers almost immediately. With a raised eye brow, she started toward her building, punching in the security code and taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

They both needed to keep moving and to avoid confined spaces until they'd talked.

He now had his section in her closet, and as the two moved to her bedroom to change out of their work clothes, she found his sight landing squarely on the cocktail dress she wore to the party.

"I'll wear that dress for you later if you want," she tried to draw him out of his mood, and sighed in defeat when he only gave a non-committed nod in response. "Mac?"

"I'm sorry, Stella, it's just – " he sat down on her bed – their bed – and pinched the bridge of his nose. She recognized all the tell-tale signs that a killer headache was coming on.

She tugged on her sweater and moved to kneel behind him, touching the coiled tight muscle at his neck. She started a slow ministration.

He remained quiet; she continued working on the knots.

After a long moment, he reached back to halt her hand and draw her to face him, "Stella."

"You know you can talk to me whenever you need to, right?" she commented softly while enjoying the way his big hand held hers, rubbing gently.

"I know," his voice was tired, but less strained. She tucked her feet in under herself and waited.

"This morning, the call that came in? It was Robert Dunbrook."

Stella sucked in her breath involuntarily. She had heard his name before, knew of his conversation with Mac recently. She wondered why he hadn't told her.

"I wasn't sure what to expect from him," he continued, his eyes looking down at their hands as he continued to brush against her skin gently. "And needless to say, I was rather weary with what he was up to."

She wanted to accuse him of not letting her know about this meeting, of going out to meet someone he knew very well to be more dangerous than he appeared to be without having back up.

Then she remembered her project, remembered what she and Angell were doing, and knew she didn't have the right to be upset.

So, she kept silent, taking in his words, knowing that he needed to just speak his mind.

This, she believed, would be one of the most important things she could offer him, that he knew he could lean on her and trust her when he was exhausted. That she would always be there.

"He gave me a cheque," he finally blurted out, his voice so grave, so dense that she strained to hear him.

"He what?"

"He gave me a cheque, twenty million dollar, enough to get us through this budget crisis at the NYPD."

She sat in disbelief, looking at the man in front of her and what exactly had happened.

"Where's that cheque now? You threw it back at his face, right?"

"Gillian took it."

She was holding her breath, trying to calm the thoughts racing through her head as she digested his statement.

"Mac?" she asked, part worry, part denial, and very afraid of the implication of his taking the shady character's money.

"He took off before I realized what it was," he explained, and that didn't really make her feel any better. "I showed it to Gillian; I talked to her about the implications. She decided to use the money."

She was at a loss of words, her mind having trouble wrapping around the situation at hand.

"Does that mean Dunbrook now can call shots at the NYPD?"

"It wasn't my decision, Stella. The deputy inspector herself decided to use the money," his tone was snappy, but it seemed as though he deflated the moment the words left hi mouth. He shot her a glance, which she took as an apology for his tone, and she offered him a brief, weak smile.

She sat back on her knee then, still watching the man in front of her. This wasn't something she could soothe away with her words and care. This wasn't something that she could help with.

She felt helpless. Stella Bonasera didn't like feeling helpless at all.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to deal with whatever it is that he's planning when he chooses to reveal it then," she finally offered, and watched as the steely resolve return to her partner's broad shoulders.

"I won't let him put the lab in jeopardy, Stella," he looked at her, the determination once again lit inside his orbs. "I won't."

"I know you won't," she echoed, her hand seeking his again, and he grasped hers tightly. "Come on, I'll make us something to eat."

"I'll join you in a bit?" he asked, but she knew he wasn't really asking. She nodded.

"I'll let you know when the food's ready," she replied and moved towards the kitchen.

And when she looked back in her bedroom, she could see his shape, with his head in his hand, deep in thought.

He needed to work it out on his own, she knew, and she would be there for him when the time was right.

That was how this partnership worked.

* * *

Ahh, here it is... a work done in 4 hours... sometimes, I guess, when a thought struck, it really works, eh? I threw away a whole chapter that I've worked on for days and came up with this... hopefully this isn't worse than what I would have posted :P

Thanks again to the many of you who reviewed... Life's been busy lately (a LOT happening at the same time) and so I apologize if I don't reply to your review soon enough!

Let me know what you think, k?

Until next time.


	24. La Foi: No Good Deed

Chapter 24: La Foi

Disclaimers: the usual ones applied

Note: OMG... I feel so silly... it wasn't until someone pm me about this that I realized I uploaded this but I've forgotten to publish it with the story! So sorry for the delay...

* * *

He was half expecting her to still be asleep when he returned from his jog (and quick detour to the grocery store) to the apartment. He should have known by now that Stella almost never did anything as he expected.

At the moment, she was humming in the kitchen. By the smell of things, there were bacons sizzling on the pan.

She was cooking breakfast.

At 4 in the morning.

In his dress shirt.

He gulped.

"Breakfast is almost ready. You wanna set the table?" she asked over her shoulder and quickly turned back to the stove.

"How do you know it's me?"

"Well, genius," she scooped up the bacons and egg onto two plates and turned. "I don't hand out my keys to whoever I pass by on the street, you know?"

He reached for one of the plates in her hand and she glared at him in exasperation, "I can handle carrying two plates, Mac."

"Yes, I do know that," he replied. He had learned that Stella never liked being waited on, but that didn't mean he would stop doing it for her.

She glared at him for good measure before sitting down across from him and dug into her own breakfast.

He waited the whole for her to say something about his getting out to go running in the middle of the night. She hadn't.

She was equally silent when they moved from the kitchen table and started doing the dishes.

Eventually, it was he who could no longer stand the lack of explanation.

"I went to see Ella McBride," he confessed, watching her for any sign of displeasure or frustration. Her face remained passive, saved for that lingering smile on her lips.

"Yea?" she answered, non-committed.

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes couldn't tear away from her. "She's doing better."

"That's good," she returned, putting aside the dishes in the sink in front of her and looking at him, "And how are you feeling?"

He was taken aback by her question. Maybe he really didn't know Stella as well as he thought.

"Relieved," he heard himself say, and had to ponder. Yes, indeed, he was relieved – but why?

"That's good then," her smile a little brighter. "Now are you doing to help me with the dishes or not?"

He wordlessly complied, moving to stand beside her at the sink. He was washing, she was drying. A pattern set early on in their relationship.

She was humming a song – something he didn't recognize, and definitely not current crop of broadcasts that passed as songs on the radio channel that had Danny enamoured. Some Greek, maybe.

When the last of the dishes were put away, she started to move away from the kitchen.

He wasn't about to let that happen. Not until his curiosity about her reactions were satisfied.

"You've got nothing to say about my visit to Ella?" he asked her.

She quirked a brow at him, "Should I be?"

Indeed that was a good question. Should Stella be? What was he expecting of her? Indignation? Anger? A screaming match?

But all those would not be warranted. He merely wanted to help someone whom he saw as helpless, whom had lost both her parents because one chose to kill the other.

He merely wanted to be there for something just as she had been there for him to prop him up.

Indeed, there was no ground for her to be angry, but since when was Stella Bonasera rational with her emotions?

"No," he said firmly. "It just surprised me, that's all, because you obviously suspected something."

She smiled at his words, and Mac found himself unable to look away for a moment.

"Well, that's just one of your God-damn-hero-complex-tendency, I guess," she shrugged done slender shoulder at him. "Did I suspect? Yes. Did I want to know about it? Not really. You asked for my opinion, I gave you what I thought would be best. What you do with them, I guess, is really up to you."

He wasn't as obtuse in the emotional realm as others might believe. He could detect the hint of hurt, the hint of frustration in her voice even as she tried to mask it.

"I really wanted to hear your opinion, Stella," he said, his eyes imploring her to believe. "I listened and I knew what you said was correct, but some how, some parts of me just didn't want to let go."

"You feel like you are responsible, somehow," she breathed out understandingly.

Maybe that was what propelled him to visit at the night. Maybe that was what prompted him to discard the advice from Stella.

"Maybe that's what you call my God-damn hero complex," he stated, self-deprecatingly. "But I don't think I'll likely change that though."

Indeed, he didn't think he would change. That was who he was: someone who cared (a little too much), who would stand up for what he believed to be right (a little too strongly perhaps), who would offer no regrets for his decisions and action (no matter at what cost).

That was who he was, and Mac Taylor knew he was unlikely to change something so fundamental to his core being.

She nodded at his words and simply said, "I know."

He wanted to ask for reasons of her easy acceptance at the same time wanting to crush her to him. He couldn't decide what to do.

So she decided for him, as usual, "That's who you are, Mac, and don't think I don't know that. I've known you for as long as you have been carrying the weight of this whole damn world on your shoulders. I just wish that maybe you would have trusted me a little more."

"But I do trust you, with everything," he countered.

"As do I," she promised as well, and her eyes turned mischievous, "but just as I know you won't ever stop trying to go all gentlemanly on me, you won't ever let those weight off your shoulders. I just wish, sometimes, you would let me share that weight with you, just a little."

He stared at her, and she gave him a warm smile before finally making her way out of the kitchen. The clock on her microwave glowed 5:12am. He needed to get ready for shift.

But he couldn't move. He stayed rooted in the area, pondering her words.

She wished he would let her shoulder part of the burden. He knew she wanted that. His thoughts drifted back to the trouble with Dunbrook, and how he had bottled up his frustration and his worry about the man from her.

Still, at the same time, he knew she was hiding something. He knew something was up, and he had been patient, waiting for her to tell him finally. He had an inkling what it was, but he kept waiting.

Should two people who purportedly trust one another with their everything, unconditionally, have so much unspoken, so much secret between them?

* * *

Ah, yes, we're approaching the big story line... *sigh*... and I'm back to the cycle of writer's block... sometimes, I just wish the shoe re: the Greek storyline would be dropped already and we can finally have that all-out fight! haha, I'm mean, yes... this one chapter is a weird one... I love the thing about them getting coffee, and I originally planned to expand on that, but then... there isn't just much more to expand, especially when it's established (here at least) that they are together, and that Stella's already been ripped by Flack a few times in the ep... hopefully this will be a good tie-in for the next chapter as I hope it will be :P...

And yes, the spoilers... *sob*... anyone saw it? I wanted to cry when I saw that it was (see Spoiler)! I mean... *wail*... I kind of expected it, but it's totally different when it's spoiled... sniff... and here I was just starting to really really warm up to that story line!

Anyway... here it is... hope you like it!

Until next time!

---

Spoiler: Jess

--

End spoiler...


	25. Je te propose: Green Piece

Chapter 25: Si je te propose

Disclaimers: not mine, the same ones applied

Spoiler: Green Piece

--

"I need you to be my maid of honour."

Stella could feel the hot coffee that threatened to come out of her nose at Danny Messer's words. It wasn't that the younger man surprised her (no, he had been fidgeting ever since he entered the break room, which was nothing unusual these days since Lindsay had announced her pregnancy). No, it was definitely not because Stella was unaware of his presence.

Rather, it was the very peculiar request.

"You want to try again?" she choked out, being putting on a teasing grin, "Unless there's something that I don't know about you – should I warn Mac he might need to pull your personnel file to change some pertinent information?"

"Neh, come on, Stell, you know me – I'm 100% man!" Danny protested. His words went out of his mouth before he could process how they sounded. His expression turned sheepish the moment realization hit, though, and his hand went to rub the back of his neck, "Ahh, crap. That came out all wrong."

Stella was barely containing her laughter, "You wanna try again?"

"Eh, well, I'm gonna get married."

There was no hiding her surprise at his statement, but soon that emotion was covered with excitement. She went on to hug the younger CSI and planted a kiss on his cheek, "Congratulations, Danny! Now when is the wedding? It'll have to be after Lindsay returns from Montana, right?"

"Eh, actually," the younger man stammered again, his hand still rubbing back and forth behind his neck.

"Come on, Danny, spit it out," she wasn't really annoyed – no, but she did want Danny to move beyond the um's and the eh's.

"Are you free this afternoon, say around 3?"

Confusion must have registered on her face, because Danny was quick to elaborate, "I've looked into it. The judge is available until around 4:15 today."

Realization, just a trickle of it, dawned in her, "Please tell me you've proposed to Lindsay?"

The sheepish look appeared once again on the man's face, "Well, you see, eh – stop glaring at me, Stella – well, I proposed a while back – "

"You did?" she had to interrupt. She had been examining Lindsay's hand diligently every day since they had announced the pregnancy, but there hadn't been a ring.

Had the two been hiding their engagement from the lab?

"Yes, I did, and she turned me down."

Stunned somehow wasn't quite enough to explain what it was that Stella was feeling, but she definitely wasn't certain how to make of the situation.

"She turned you down."

"Uh huh," a nod from Danny.

"Yet you're still taking Lindsay to see a judge today, for something that would require my being a maid of honour."

"Your deductive skill continues to amaze me, Stella," the sarcasm wasn't lost on Stella.

"Watch it, Messer," she didn't mean to snap. "Please tell me you've thought it through."

"Yes, I have. I've talked to Mac about it as well."

"And Mac told you to get married?" that didn't sound like the Mac Taylor she knew at all.

"Well, no, but he gave me a lot to think about and I know this is the right thing to do."

"No regrets, Danny," she needed him to understand. "A baby's involved. You're in it for the long haul."

"I'm already in," he sounded confident, and Stella believed him.

"And you want me there," she stated, but the question inherent was obvious. "Not Flack, not Hawkes, not Adam."

"Well, I don't think it'd go over too well to be called the maid of honour," he started, and she looked at him challengingly, as if daring him to continue. "Plus, you're like the big sister from Greek that I never had, Stell."

She paused, letting the sentiments behind that statement wash over her.

"Stell?" he was waving his hand in front of her face.

"It's good that you said sister and not mother, Danny. Otherwise I would have seriously hurt you."

"I love you too," Danny threw back with a wink, and waved someone in the break room. Stella turned around to see Mac standing there.

"We about ready to leave or do you two need any more declarations?" he deadpanned, and Stella fought to hide her amusement.

"No, no, no," the younger CSI waved his hands negative. "I'll, eh, kidnap Lindsay to the Judge's. Meet you two there?"

They nodded and watched as the groom-to-be dash off in one direction.

"That sounded wrong," she finally said when they were both alone in the break room.

"It's Danny," Mac responded by way of explanation. "Shall we?"

Side by side, arms brushing, they walked towards the elevators that would take them to the garage.

"So you knew about it," she said once they were buckled in his SUV.

"What? This? Yes," Mac nodded as he started the car and maneuvered them out of the parking lot. "I talked to him earlier about this all, and then he came this morning and asked for the time off."

"And now you're his best man," she grinned.

"And now I'm his best man," he grinned back.

They were driving along at a snail pace towards their destination. Stella let her mind wander, thinking about the wedding of her two friends, about life, about the baby.

About the man beside her, and how, for the first time in her adult life, she thought about marriage, with her standing at the altar.

She had long since given up the elusive dream of marriage, but lately, she found herself glancing a little more at the wedding magazines at the grocery store.

She wasn't sure what Mac was thinking about it – they hadn't really talked about it, and the whole need for secrecy wasn't exactly conducive to engagement and marriage between them two, either. And it wasn't as if she wanted that piece of paper to prove that they were meant to be.

No, it was just that the image of pledging her life to someone, in front of their family and friends appealed to her.

As they were moving along the busy streets, Stella spotted one of the flower boutiques she frequented, and her hand shot out to squeeze Mac's arm, "Park here."

Her partner didn't ask any question, though his curiosity was obvious. He did as she asked and killed the ignition.

"Stella?" he turned to look at her. She was already fishing out her wallet from her bag.

"Wait here," she commanded before dashing out of the car, onto the pedestrian traffic into the familiar little shop.

10 minutes later, she came out armed with a small bouquet of fresh flowers. She grinned in satisfaction when Mac looked at the bouquet with a knowing smile.

"Good thinking," he said when he started the car again.

"Well, I know it's not a traditional wedding, but women all love flowers, you know," she shrugged.

"Are you trying to tell me something here?" he asked teasingly – but was he asking her if she wanted flowers?

"I don't live for flowers myself," regardless, she wanted to reassure him. Mac wasn't a flower person – but he showed his appreciation in more ways than just buying her flowers.

That, to her, was more important.

"I'm sure," she smiled, and knew that he was glancing at her from the corner of his eyes even as he was navigating the traffic. "But if you're so inclined, I won't mind getting a few daffodils and calla lilies now and then."

She could tell that he was noting it in his mind, and she knew a bouquet would make it to her apartment or her desk at work at some point in the future, but really, she didn't mind.

She took off the seatbelt and turned to face him soon as he put the SUV into park.

"Mac," she called his name and waited until he turned to look at her. "I'm not a flower person."

"I know," he answered softly. "But as you said, women love flowers, right?"

"Right," she agreed. "But the smart ones don't need them to be assured of their partner's feelings."

She watched as he mulled the point over, and she wondered if she had gotten the point across. Regardless, they had a wedding to attend.

"We don't want to be late," she said, getting out of the SUV and rounded to the front to wait for him.

His hand went to the small of her back; his fingers skimmed a soft touch of her skin where her shirt had ridden up.

Side by side, just as always, they walked up the steps to the old building: a man and a woman and a bouquet of flower between them.

They had a wedding to go to.

--

Ahh, here we go… I was going to have them in the judge's office too, but then that just got on too long, so next week, haha… I guess you all should have learned not to trust me too much, right?

Anyway, I know I still owe replies to reviews. I will get to them, I swear… life's just been busy for a working professional taking 2 courses and helping organize a church choir…

Let me know what you think!

Until next time!


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